


Bound

by Anise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Mind Games, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anise/pseuds/Anise
Summary: By the spring of her fifth year, Ginny Weasley had almost convinced herself that she didn’t really still want Harry Potter. But when he finally kissed her one Hogsmeade weekend in June, she couldn’t resist the power of all those years of waiting and watching and hoping and praying. Six months later, her dream has finally come true… except that Draco Malfoy just won’t leave her alone. Strange things are afoot, and once Ginny starts to figure out what’s really going on, nothing is as simple as it seems… Revised Edition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the older fanfics, but it's seriously one of my favorites. Classic D/G! Enjoy.  
> Note: There is H/G here, but it is not the primary ship. If you've read my fics... you know better than that. :P Unfortunately, AO3 does not have a way to provide information in the ship tag itself about whether a ship is present, past, primary, secondary, does/doesn't end up that way, etc. So the lesser of two evils seemed to be to take the H/G tag off but put it in a note. If you want to read H/G, this is not the fic for you. If you don't want to read any H/G at all whatsover, there IS a little bit here. It's important that everyone has as much info as possible so that they can spend their time reading fics they like. That's why we're all here! :)

December 20th, 1997  
Diagon Alley  
  
As soon as Ginny Weasley heard the tinkling of the back door bell, she knew. Her heart sank at that sound, and that knowledge. She’d always thought that phrase was only a figure of speech, but she could literally feel it plummeting all the way down to her shoes. She didn’t really even know why she was so sure of who it was coming into the shop; she was busy teetering on a stool and restocking boxes of Diorama Double-Bubble Gum on a high shelf at the moment when she heard the bell. But she knew. She stared blankly at the printing on the side of one of the boxes, struggling to collect her thoughts.   
  
_Lemon, orange, lime, cherry! Bubbles display historical events in stunning detail! Amaze your friends! Astound your enemies! Pass those tricky History of Magic tests! Goblin battles our specialty._  
  
_Maybe it’s Colin, coming a bit early,_ she tried to tell herself. He’d been meeting her for dinner every day over the winter holidays. It might have been one of her other friends from Hogwarts. Perhaps Luna had returned early from the journey with her father to find Star-Bellied Sneetches in the fjords of Norway, or Seamus had decided to drop by. They were speaking by now; she’d forgiven him for constantly groping her, he’d forgiven her for that nasty hex last year, and all of his body parts had long since been successfully reattached. Really, it could have been anyone. Everybody knew she worked at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes over every holiday break now, and on weekends whenever she could, helping Fred and George, and friends always came in the back door. But…  
  
A panel slid back a few inches from her nose. “Oy, Gin!” said Fred’s head cheerfully. As was often the case these days, it was not attached to the rest of his body.   
  
Ginny jumped back. “I wish you’d give those Floating Head Fruit Lollies a rest!” she said irritably. “You almost made me fall off this chair, Fred.”  
  
“You don’t want to do that.” Fred’s disembodied hand floated up to ruffle his sister’s hair. “Got to keep it all in one piece for Harry, sis.”  
  
_I was right._ Ginny’s heart seemed to be doing its level best to get out of the soles of her feet at this point.   
  
“I just saw him out in the alley,” said George, climbing up to the top shelf of the inner room on a more conventional stepladder  
  
“I’ll go and let him in. Show him how we modified the lollies. They work on any body part now!” said Fred excitedly, his head and right hand swooping down to their normal position as he scampered out the door of the little inner room on the other side of the wall where Ginny was working.   
  
“D’you want to see him, Ginny?” George asked quietly.   
  
Ginny gave a long, long sigh. “Of course I do,” she said, and she began to climb down to the floor. She pushed the stool back to the wall, and looked in a tiny mirror she pulled from her pocket. At a tap, it expanded to show her face, neck, and shoulders. A pale, haunted face looked back at her, surrounded by the crowded shelves and bustling front entrance of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.   
  
“You really ought to try a brighter shade of lipstick, dear,” the mirror twittered. “Scarlet Sin, I should think. And don’t knit your brows together like that. Boys find it dreadfully unattractive, you know!”  
  
Ginny scowled further. She turned and was about to snap the mirror shut when she caught a reflected glimpse of Harry coming in the back door. He looked bemused, and Fred was dragging him towards a small side room. Ginny shifted the mirror. Now she could see the sprig of greenery fastened above its door. Fred was talking to Harry excitedly, pointing to the green thing, and winking. Harry looked rather worried. Fred dug an elbow into his ribs, making Harry wince. Then he left the mirror’s field of vision, chortling. Ginny looked up to see that he was headed towards her. She froze. The thing Fred had fastened above the door of the side room a few days before was  _Weasleys’ Wonderfully Wicked, Magically Enhanced Mistletoe—Saucy and Salacious Snogs Guaranteed, Or Quadruple Your Money Back!_ And she had already seen its effects on Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones the day before. Susan had slipped Fred the admission fee and tricked Ernie into entering the room. The poor boy hadn’t known what hit him.  
  
“Oh, Gin!” Fred called loudly in her direction. “Come back here a minute, would you, please?”  
  
George appeared at her side. “This way,” he said sotte voce, and before Ginny even had a chance to protest that she could rescue herself from Fred’s demented attempts at matchmaking, thank you very much, her other brother had propelled her towards the front of the shop.   
  
“Stay out there for at least fifteen minutes. I’ll get rid of Harry,” George told her. “Try hiding there.” He pushed her out the door and towards a large Father Christmas display on the sidewalk, glancing back first to make sure she couldn’t be seen from the large picture windows in the front of the shop. Ginny crouched behind it, aware of what an utterly ungraceful position she was in. And it was all for the sake of hiding from Harry Potter, who was supposed to be her boyfriend.  _Oh, and don’t forget trying to avoid him kissing me passionately under the mistletoe. Although I’m not at all sure that even the magic of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes could make **that** possible. _  
  
She sighed, and squirmed. The edge of a large box sticking out of the bearded display’s sack was digging into her bum, and snow was starting to drip onto her head.  _How on earth did I ever manage to get myself into this mess in the first place?_  
  
Trouble was, she knew all too well.   
  
Part Two  
June 15, 1997.  
Hogsmeade.   
  
Ginny would never have guessed in a million years that the last Hogsmeade weekend in the late spring of her fifth year was going to end the way it did. When she relived it, that fact was the detail which bothered her the most. Not that she generally admitted anything at all was bothering her about the memory of that day. But in the small hours of the night, when she stared up into the canopy of her four-poster bed until her eyes burned with wakefulness, her defenses were always at their lowest. And then—sometimes, anyway—she did admit it.   
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were bringing her into their activities that spring a bit more than they had done, maybe. She sat next to them at meals sometimes now, and Harry would address vague questions to her. When she said something amusing, he would laugh, his eyes not quite on her. He was Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, of course, and she had been made Chaser this year. Ron was team captain, and Hermione would cheer dutifully from the stands. So that drew the four of them together, to some extent.   
  
But they still never sat at Ginny’s table in the library, or included her in the walks around the lake. She was forever coming upon them in a tight little circle of three, their heads pressed close together, urgently whispering. They always stopped when they realized she was near. “What are you talking about?” she’d ask. “Nothing,” Harry, Ron, and Hermione would chorus. And Ginny certainly hadn’t expected them to include her in their Hogsmeade plans that Saturday, because they had never had done before. She’d made arrangements to spend the day with Luna, Neville, and Colin.   
  
But that late afternoon, about an hour before they’d all have to return to Hogwarts, she had been wandering aimlessly down the street, staring listlessly into shop windows, trying to decide if getting some more Sugar Quills was really worth all the trouble of walking back to Honeyduke’s. Luna had found a bookshop and was talking Neville’s ear off about astrological theories involving Stonehenge, the Sphinx, and the Fuchsia Fibble-Footed Sniffersnoof. Ginny had made a strategic escape. Colin was trying to chat up Seamus outside the Hog’s Head. She had tried to tell him that it was hopeless, since Seamus was as straight as an arrow as far as she could see, considering the way he’d constantly tried to get her to sleep with him when they were dating. But Colin had come out to Ginny that year, and kept trying to enlist her help in finding a boyfriend. He never listened to the advice she gave.   
  
She loitered near the little road that led to the Shrieking Shack, letting the breeze waft her hair, feeling the sunlight on her closed eyes. Then she jumped. Someone had tapped her on the shoulder.   
  
“Ginny,” said Hermione a little breathlessly. “I’m glad I found you. Come on.”  
  
“Where?” Ginny scampered after Hermione, who was already walking back towards the centre of the town.   
  
“We’re at the Three Broomsticks,” Hermione called back over her shoulder. “Hurry.”  
  
Raising her eyebrows, Ginny followed.   
  
There was definitely an odd vibe at that table, Ginny decided. Nobody was talking much. Ron kept elbowing Hermione in the ribs. She kept glaring back at him. Harry looked nervous and wouldn’t meet anyone else’s eyes. Well, at least the butterbeer is good. Ginny sipped at hers, enjoying the sweet, spicy taste, and wondered if there was a point to her being invited to the Trio’s gathering, and if so, if anybody was ever planning on letting her in on it.   
  
Ron kicked Harry under the table in what was undoubtedly supposed to be a very subtle way. He rubbed his ankle and sighed.   
  
“Ginny,” he said, “I’d like to, um, show you something.”  
  
“Oh?” Ginny asked. “Where is it?”  
  
“Outside.”  
  
Ginny glanced back at the table as Harry led her to a side door and into a little grassy yard. Ron and Hermione were whispering furiously to each other. Harry stopped her and then glanced around. The yard was very secluded, surrounded by small buildings on every side, and lined with blooming rosebushes that scented the air deliciously. He still didn’t say anything.   
  
Ginny rarely had a chance to look at him anywhere near this closely, and she studied his sculpted face, his swirly dark hair, which seemed to be messier than ever ( _every strand’s standing on end, I think!_ ) and his earnest forest mgreen eyes, blinking at her behind the same black-rimmed glasses he’d always worn. She wondered if his prescription never changed. Or did his awful Muggle aunt and uncle just keep buying him the same frames, because they were cheapest? And what was she doing, thinking about silly things like that at a time like this, when Harry had deliberately gotten her alone, and was looking at her so intently, almost desperately?  
  
“Harry?” she asked tentatively. “Did you, uh, want something?”  
  
In answer, he suddenly leaned forward, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her back against the wall of a shed, knocking her head. “Sorry,” he said, horrified. “Ooh, Ginny, I didn’t mean to—are you all right?”  
  
“Yes…” She leaned forward, rubbing the back of her head, now more confused then ever.   
  
“Good,” said Harry, and then he leaned in and kissed her. Her eyes flew wide open with shock. It wasn’t a particularly graceful kiss. His teeth scraped her lips and he didn’t quite seem to know what to do with his tongue, but it went on and on, and finally she opened her mouth and coaxed him closer. Ginny thought that she clearly had more experience with kissing than he did, for all that she was a year younger. But then, she’d only ever heard of him dating Cho back in fifth year, and then a brief, failed attempt at a relationship with Luna this year.  _Why am I thinking things like this? Harry’s kissing me, finally kissing me! It’s the best, the most exciting thing…really it is… ouch… he’s biting my lip…_  
  
And by the time Harry lifted his head, Ginny had convinced herself of her own words.   
  
They came back into the Three Broomsticks a few minutes later. Ginny blushed when Ron and Hermione both looked at her anxiously.   
  
“Told you,” chortled Ron, looking satisfied. Hermione nodded. There was still a trace of worry, or perhaps only thoughtfulness, in her eyes.   
  
Harry sat down, and pulled out Ginny’s chair for her. Slowly, she sat in it. He kept his hand on her knee now when he talked, and sat much closer to her than he had ever done before. She was fully included in the conversation at the table for the first time in her life. Everything had changed; subtly, but unmistakably, everything had changed. But she mostly only felt lost and bewildered. She looked at Harry, and he gave her a small smile. It warmed her. _It’s only because everything happened so fast,_ she told herself.  _This is exactly what I’ve always dreamed of. I never thought it would happen… and now it has._  
  
The four of them walked slowly down the street, surrounded by crowds of students preparing to return to Hogwarts. “Oy!” someone yelled. “Harry… Ron… over here… “  
  
Harry turned to Ginny. “Is it all right if I go and talk to him for a minute? Shouldn’t take long.”   
  
“Of course,” she said. She recognized Jack Sloper now, and knew that he was likely trying to get Harry and Ron alone in order to lay out his demented plans to reorganize the team. He’d already told them to her. So she really didn’t mind. Still, it felt so odd for Harry to worry about her reaction to something like his leaving her by herself on the first day when they…  _What did we do? We started dating, didn’t we? Still seems so odd… Well, I’ll get used to it. It might take a bit of time, but I will._  
  
Hermione waited until the boys were long out of earshot. “Harry kissed you, didn’t he?” she asked quietly.   
  
“Well…” Ginny could feel herself turning a shade of pink. “Yes, he did. You knew he would, didn’t you? And Ron did as well.”  
  
Hermione nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, Ginny, but there’s not much that Harry can keep from us. We knew he was planning it. What else did he do? You don’t mind telling me, do you?” she added as an afterthought.   
  
“No,” said Ginny truthfully. “There’s not much else to tell. He asked me to come out to the Quidditch pitch tonight, and said he’d show me some new moves on his broom that he hasn’t shown anyone else yet—“  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone except Harry, I’d say that’s the worst double entendre I’ve ever heard in my life.”  
  
“But it is Harry.” Ginny smiled. “And you know he didn’t mean it that way.”  
  
“Yes, I know.” Hermione hesitated. “Ginny, you do understand what this means, right? He’s been building up to it for weeks. He made us both swear not to tell you until he was ready, or even to drop any hints. But I know that Harry didn’t just kiss you on a lark. He doesn’t do that sort of thing.”  
  
“I understand,” said Ginny. “Right after that, he told me he’d be coming to stay at the Burrow later this summer, and he kept talking about all the exciting things we’d do. Like we were a couple already.” Harry and Ron were walking back towards them, and Ginny knew that she and Hermione didn’t have much time left to talk.   
  
“But, Hermione,” she asked quickly, before she lost her nerve, “why now? What’s changed?” She expected Hermione to ask what on earth she meant by that, but the other girl only looked troubled.  _Not confused, though. She does know what I mean. I was sort of hoping she didn’t._  
  
“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I can’t think of anything. Except—“   
  
“Hurry, if you’re going to say anything,” says Ginny. “They’re headed back this way.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know if this could possibly have meant anything or not. But right before Harry started talking about you—differently—than he ever had before, something a bit odd did happen. He got an owl at breakfast one morning from your mum, a few weeks ago.”  
  
“She’s sent owls to him before.”  
  
“I know, but he wouldn’t tell us what was in this one. And he acted so strangely all day after that. Look, Ginny,” Hermione added quickly, “if you want to talk more about this later, we will. But not now.”   
  
“Sloper’s mad,” Ron exclaimed. “Listen to this, Gin. He thinks the way he keeps hitting members of the Gryffindor team with his bat could turn out to be useful. He wants to change our strategy so that we let the Bludgers come at the Chasers, he thinks it’ll throw the other teams off—“  
  
“I know,” said Ginny. “He already told me about it.”  
  
“If he thinks I’m going to let Bludgers come at your head, first I’ll sit on him, and then--“ began Ron.   
  
“It won’t come to that. He’s an absolute nutter,” agreed Harry, laughing. “But I’ll protect you, Ginny.” He came up to Ginny and took her hand. The three of them continued walking. He clasped her fingers in his, their arms swinging, and kept talking to her brother. She knew, then, that this was how it would be. No big fuss. No long discussions. No lavish romance. She could tell that none of that sort of thing was Harry’s style; in fact, Ginny thought, she’d likely always known that. She would simply be included as a part of his life from now on, but in a way that she had never been before.   
  
The crowds of students grew thicker. A group of Slytherins brushed by them, Draco Malfoy at its centre. Ron stiffened incredibly, and Hermione shook her head at him, pressing her finger to her lips. Harry’s eyes narrowed. The Order had been on edge for the past year, Ginny knew, waiting tensely for Voldemort and the Death Eaters to make a move. After hearing about the way that Malfoy had threatened Harry at the end of the spring term in his fifth year, Ron had become thoroughly convinced that Malfoy was now an official Junior Death Eater. He kept trying to come up with a plan to sneak into the Slytherin showers after a Quidditch game in order to see if Malfoy’s arm had the Dark Mark, and had finally announced that it didn’t matter if he ever actually saw it or not, since he was sure it was there. That always seemed like rather circular reasoning to Ginny. Harry had avoided confrontations with Malfoy for the past year, but watched him like a hawk, his hand never far from his wand when he was within twenty metres of the Slytherin boy. Ginny felt his right hand stray to his waist holster now, letting go her arm.   
  
“Oh, don’t, Harry,” she hissed urgently. “Let’s not make trouble. He’s not doing anything.”  
  
And indeed, the entire group of Slytherins had been ignoring them. But there was a lull in the general rumble of conversation when Ginny whispered to Harry, and she blushed, realizing too late just how loud she had been. Pansy laughed meanly. She was at the very centre of the group, clutching onto Malfoy’s arm as if her life depended on it.   
  
“Clever of you, Weaslette,” she said. “Don’t let Scarhead here start anything he can’t finish.” The group of girls surrounding her tittered. But nobody else said a word. Ginny couldn’t understand why at first. Then she saw that Malfoy was silent, and everyone else clearly took their cue from him, not from Pansy Parkinson.   
  
Ginny raised her head and looked steadily into his eyes, silently daring him to make a remark. She was sure he would. He had a cutting wit, and one secret Ginny would never tell anyone was that she sometimes found his scathing comments amusing—as long as they weren’t directed at her. But he said nothing.  _Why won’t Malfoy say anything? I almost wish he would!_ He only looked at her sullenly, his dark-blond eyebrows knitting together into a scowl. She glared back, defiantly.  _How dare he look at me that way!_ She clutched tighter at Harry’s arm. And for the first time, her delight at being Harry Potter’s new girlfriend was complete. This was what she had wanted for so long that she couldn’t clearly remember wanting much of anything else. Now, it was hers.   
  
Malfoy’s narrow mouth twisted into a half-grin. It did not reach his eyes. He raised a slender white hand to Ginny, as if in salute.   
  
Then he looked away, and the moment was broken. The group of Slytherins began moving down the street again, none of them looking back.   
  
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Ron asked his sister indignantly. “That evil smirk! And what was that thing he did with his hand? Probably the beginning of a curse. I’ll bet he learned it from Snape. He’s plotting something. I know it! Listen, Harry. We should try that Polyjuice trick again. We could learn so much, and—“  
  
“Haven’t you learned anything since second year?” asked Hermione. “We had no idea at the time how lucky we were not to get caught.”   
  
Harry raised a hand. “Not today,” he said, looking warmly at Ginny. “I don’t want to even think about Malfoy today, of all days.” And she smiled back, clasping his hand.   
  
But the image of Malfoy’s bright head and pale burning eyes stayed with her still, as if stamped into her retinas by the bright June sun. She never told anyone, but she dreamed about the way he had looked at her for a long time after that. She remembered the expression on his face long after any clear memory of Harry’s kisses had faded. Malfoy had looked like a shuttered house, his secrets hidden behind a mocking grin that walled out the world more surely than doors and windows could ever do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all readers! :) Lyrics are from Dream Police by Cheap Trick, and I Go to Sleep by The Pretenders. If you've read the version on Schnoogle, there are small but significant differences in this one...

  
  
  
December 20th, 1997.   
Diagon Alley.   
  
It had to have been at least fifteen minutes now that she’d been stuck outside. Still, George hadn’t come up to tell her that the coast was clear yet. So Ginny resigned herself to remain where she was a little while longer, shifting position and trying to find some comfortable way of crouching wedged behind an animated Father Christmas statue that kept booming “Ho, ho, ho!” directly into her left ear. Sunlight sparkled on the new-fallen snow that blanketed Diagon Alley. Wizards, witches, and Hogwarts students bustled by, chatting excitedly about Christmas plans. The windows of the shopfronts glittered, holly wreathed all the buildings, and carols drifted through the air, mingled rather incongruously with a Muggle radio someone was carrying.   
_  
The dream police, they live inside of my head.  
(live inside of my head.)  
The dream police, they come to me in my bed.  
(come to me in my bed.)  
The dream police, they’re coming to arrest me, oh no...  
_  
Still, it all would have been very lovely, except that Ginny’s winter robes were hung in a closet inside the shop and she’d taken off her woolen sweater whilst she worked, which meant that now she was half-kneeling in a patch of grimy snow in a short-sleeved cotton blouse.  
  
Two sets of footsteps crunched through the snow and paused directly in front of her.   
  
“Why are you stopping here?” asked a shrill, breathy voice. “I have to be at Madame Malkin’s at two o’clock. I need to see if the robes for the Yule party are ready.”   
  
Ginny grimaced horribly, glad that her pocket mirror couldn’t see her undoubtedly awful expression. Pansy Parkinson!   
  
“You can run along, if you like,” drawled a second voice.   
  
_And Draco Malfoy! I might’ve known._  
  
“But you have to see them. You have to find out if they’re going to go with your robes.”  
  
“I’m not going to go there and stand around for hours on end and die of bloody boredom.”  
  
“I could tell you about them, I suppose.“  
  
“All right,” sighed Draco, “what sort of fashion atrocity are you going to commit this time?”   
  
“They’re green silk with chartreuse lace trim--“  
  
“Pansy, how many times do I have to tell you that you should never wear green? It makes you look like an anemic frog. And chartreuse. The color ought to be banned and only sold by government order. I’ve only ever seen one person in all my life who might look good in chartreuse.”  
  
“Oh, really?” Pansy’s eyes glittered. “And who could that possibly be?”  
  
“It’s none of your concern. Anyway, can’t you go and get your robes by yourself? Do you really have to be tethered to me all the time? I mean, is that a necessary part of this…arrangement?”  
  
Ginny peeped out. Pansy was clenching her teeth together. “But, Draco, that’s why I wanted you to see them,” she said in a falsely sweet tone of voice. “What would I do without the benefit of your fashion advice? You could have a lovely career in robe designing, if you ever decide to turn queer.”  
  
“There are times,” Draco said, his voice poisonously pleasant, “when it doesn’t seem like the worst option in the world, Pansy. Warrington has a wicked backhand with a Bludger, you know. I’m sure he’d do a better job of jerking me off than you’ve ever done.”  
  
Ginny’s eyes widened. Apparently, the pairing of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson was not exactly the fairy-tale romance she had always pictured it to be—if, that is, the fairy tale involved a couple so horrible that they fully deserved each other and could never have been inflicted on anyone else. Their argument was shamefully fascinating to overhear, but on the whole she wished they’d go and have it someplace else. A particularly cold gust of wind blew through the short-sleeved blouse Ginny wore. Her nose began to twitch.   
  
When she looked up again, Pansy had whirled on Draco, and was speaking in a low, furious voice. “I’ve had just about enough of this. I don’t care what you do on your own time, Draco! You can screw the entire Slytherin Quidditch team twenty-four hours a day, for all I care. But while we’re together—and you know that we have to be together now—you’ll treat me with a bit more respect.”   
  
“Don’t I treat you with respect?” Draco asked, his voice filled with mock hurt. “It’s been weeks since I shagged Xanthia Morgan while you were in the next room taking tea with your mother.”   
  
“Ooh!” Pansy stamped her foot. Unfortunately, the movement shook the statue of Father Christmas, which wasn’t particularly well balanced. It began to topple over onto Ginny. She grabbed onto it, lost her balance, and fell loudly in the snow, presents spilling out of the bag on top of her. Pansy and Draco both turned towards her, proving, thought Ginny, that once more her fervent prayers to magically disappear from view during an embarrassing moment had gone unanswered.  _There’s simply got to be a way to do that! Maybe I could talk to Professor Flitwick about a charm after Christmas break._  
  
Pansy regained her composure so quickly that Ginny wasn’t sure she’d ever lost it.   
  
“What are you doing, Weaslette?” she sneered. “Grubbing in the snow for knuts that might have fallen out of people’s pockets? Everyone’s shopping today, so you might actually have some luck.” She glanced at Draco for support. From the expression on his face, it was clear that she had found none.   
  
“Run along, Pansy,” he said, his eyes on Ginny. “I’ll take care of the littlest Weasley.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“You’ll be late for your appointment at Madame Malkin’s. Scoot.”   
  
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. It was not an attractive look for her. Still, thought Ginny, Pansy looked stunningly pretty, as always, with her glossy dark hair cut in its neat pageboy, her large, dark eyes framed by tangled black lashes, her expensive robes, and her perfect makeup.  _Really, she looks like her entire head was applied with a small brush. I wonder if the Parkinson family has specialized house-elves just to take care of Pansy’s makeup?_  
  
“What’s going on here?” Pansy asked Draco.   
  
He made little ushering-away motions with his hands, not bothering to look at her.   
  
Pansy’s face went blank, and then stretched into an amused smile. “Really, Draco darling,” she drawled, “she’s hardly up to your usual standard.”   
  
“Variety is the spice of life,” said Draco, reaching out a hand towards Ginny. He wants to help me up, she thought stupidly. She took it, realizing belatedly that it was the first time she’d ever actually touched his skin. She’d expected him to feel cold and unpleasantly snake-like, but he didn’t at all. His hand was warm and smooth in hers. She got to her feet and brushed off her trousers, uncomfortably aware that she had put on her oldest, shabbiest pair to restock the shelves that day. Her hair was probably a mess, too. At least Pansy had gone, but she wished Draco Malfoy would stop looking at her like that.   
  
“Now, what does this situation make me think of?” he asked her. “I can almost call it to mind…”  
  
_How the bloody hell should I know?_ she almost snapped. “Thank you for helping me up, Malfoy,” she said instead, aware that her voice was very ungracious. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to—“  
  
He snaps his fingers. “I remember now. Looking at you reminds me of the time when that annoying house-elf we had… Doobie? Bubbi?”   
  
“Dobby. Wasn’t he with your family for thirty years?”   
  
“Whatever. Anyway, it was the time he locked himself out in the snow as punishment for allowing the syllabub to come to the table just the tiniest bit runny during an important dinner. He was out there for hours, I think. There were icicles hanging off his nose by the time I finally saw him out in the courtyard and let him in.”  
  
“That’s dreadful,” said Ginny, peering round to see if anyone could see her with him.  
  
“I wouldn’t say that. He never did it again… It’s really very efficient, the way house-elves punish themselves.”   
  
Ginny shivered. In the throes of embarrassment at being seen floundering around in the snow by Pansy Parkinson, she had almost forgotten how cold it really was.   
  
“Cold?” Draco asked, his voice almost kindly.   
  
“Yes. It’s December, and I’m wearing short sleeves. Now if you’ll excuse me—“  
  
“If I were the chivalrous sort,” he said idly, “I suppose I would give you my cloak, Weasley. But I’m cold, too.”   
  
“It’s not important,” she said icily. “I’m going back into the shop.” When she glanced through the window and craned her neck, though, she still saw Fred’s bright red head hovering near the side room. He was apparently talking to someone she couldn’t see, and Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that she knew who it was. “Damn,” she muttered. “I can’t, not yet.”  
  
“Oh?” He looks at her inquisitively. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”  
  
The chill wind blew through her clothing as if it were made of especially thin parchment, and made her too cold to think clearly. “Trying to avoid someone,” she said.   
  
Ginny realized what a mistake she’d made to tell Draco Malfoy the truth about anything a millisecond before he looked over her shoulder to scan her brothers’ shop. She chanced a quick look as well, and groaned inwardly. Harry had come out of the side room and was standing near the back. He was clearly visible. She gritted her teeth, fully expecting a smart remark from Malfoy.   
  
“Really,” was all that he said. His tone was quite pleasant. She looked at him suspiciously.   
  
“Listen, Weasley,” he continued, “you want to warm up? I can’t give you my cloak, but come with me for a drink. How about some hot buttered rum? I know the perfect place in Knockturn Alley.  _Je reve_ , it’s called—“  
  
“I’m meeting someone for dinner,” Ginny said stiffly. She’d gone too far, and told him much too much. Damn him for always seeming to make that happen. It had been this way ever since August, and every time she was reminded of it, she firmly told herself that this bizarre… thing… between herself and Malfoy had to end.   
  
He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Would that be the same person you’re hiding from?”  
  
“Why do I even talk to you?” Ginny muttered.   
  
Malfoy flashed her a grin. His teeth were dazzlingly white and even. “You can’t resist my stunning wit and charm?”  
  
Ginny’s lips twisted in something that was not quite a smile. She didn’t know the answer to her question. She’d never known it. When he’d given her that look on the June day in Hogsmeade as she hung onto Harry’s arm, Ginny would never have been able to imagine that in six months she’d reach a point where she regularly exchanged halfway civil conversation with Draco Malfoy. But somehow she had. And she knew exactly when it had started.   
  
August 10th, 1997.   
Diagon Alley.   
  
It was a hot, still summer evening, and Ginny was restocking shelves in the back of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It was a dull, tiring job that made her back ache and had put a crimp in her neck, but it had to be done. The student rush would start soon, and the shop had to ready to re-open then, after its renovation. Even now, there was a trickle of Hogwarts hopefuls knocking at the still-bolted door, or peering in the plate glass windows. And since Fred and George weren’t about to let her anywhere near the Amazing Annex, she was responsible for stocking, ordering, and tracking the more pedestrian merchandise.  
  
“The astonishing variety of wares in the Amazing Annex will make our name, Ginny. You wait and see,” Fred had said solemnly back in May, when Ginny had visited the shop in order to talk to her brothers about working there. “There isn’t another joke shop that carries them; Gambol and Japes wouldn’t touch them with a twenty-metre wand.”   
  
“Well, outside of that one in Knockturn Alley,” George had chimed in.   
  
“True, true. But not really competition for the likes of us. Too many customers really don’t care to risk life and limb simply because they choose to purchase—er—adult items for the discriminating witch and wizard. Now we, on the other hand—“ Fred made a grand gesture around the shop “—maintain a family atmosphere. With the one exception of the Annex.”  
  
“It does sound interesting,” Ginny said. “I’m sure I could come in all the time over the summer, and during the hols, too.” She was already headed for the little green door with its brass knob, the one that led to the back room Fred and George had dubbed the Amazing Annex after several weeks of trying to come up with a more interesting name.   
Fred effortlessly stopped her with one large, Quidditch-roughened hand. “Ah, ah, Ginny,” he said. “I don’t think you quite understand. You see, there’s one condition of you working here.”  
  
“What’s that?” Ginny had asked, not even trying to struggle. She’d long ago learned that resistance was futile when it came to Fred.   
  
“You can’t go anywhere near the Annex,” said Fred.   
  
“Mum’d kill you if she knew,” agreed George.   
  
“Well, I think she’d kill us first,” said Fred, thoughtfully. “Then you. Then a number of quite random people.”  
  
“Oh, all right!” Ginny had sighed, suppressing all the arguments that had come to her mind. Most of them began with “I’m not nine years old, you know!” She had a sinking feeling that none of them would get her very far.   
  
Besides, if she was only allowed to work there she was sure that she could sneak a peek, sooner or later.   
  
Fred and George frequently had to leave her alone to mind the shop whilst they dealt with suppliers, or arranged for deliveries. So Ginny had tried the door of the Annex many times, but they had obviously protected it with a Locking spell considerably beyond her abilities to crack. She had high hopes of doing so eventually. Now, she sat up, moved her fingers over her aching back, feeling the ligaments stretch and the cartilage shift, and wondered if maybe this quiet August day was a good time to try again. The twins were negotiating with The International Sisterhood of Hags, Union #104 over illegal Level 3 viruses for a new product called Ebola Eggnog, and neither one would be back for a while yet. She hadn’t taken a break since lunch. Maybe... maybe…   
  
Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard the footsteps.  _That front door’s supposed to be locked! Well, I could’ve forgot after I went out for lunch, I suppose._  
  
“We’re closed!” she called.   
  
The footsteps continued. Maybe it’s Colin.  _He wasn’t supposed to come and take me to dinner for another hour, but maybe he’s early._  “I’m back here,“ she yelled.   
  
“You really should lock that door,” said an all-too-familiar voice, low and drawling and almost lazy-sounding. She hadn’t actually heard it in several months. But she could never mistake it for anyone else’s voice.   
  
“Malfoy,” she hissed, turning to face him.   
  
The rays of the summer sun were deepening towards night, and they cast long shadows through the plate glass windows in front. He walked through one of them, then out into the sunlight again. His hair looked so bright that the light shining off it nearly blinded her, and his face was a blur. She rubbed her eyes, every muscle in her body tensing. He stopped in front of her.  
  
“If I were a robber, you know, I could have every Knut of your money by now,” he said casually. “If you have any, that is.”  
  
“I’ll have you know that Fred and George are doing very well with the shop,” Ginny said, and then clamped her mouth shut, scowling.  _What am I doing, even talking to him? Have I lost my mind? Could I throw a good Bat-Bogey hex while he’s off his guard? It certainly worked last year. Oh balls, no I couldn’t. My wand’s up at the front cash register._  
  
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked guardedly.   
  
He leaned against a filing cabinet. “Isn’t this a shop?”  
  
“Yes. But it’s closed. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”  
  
He shrugged. “Didn’t bother to look, Weasley. So they have you working here now?” He looked her up and down, his eyes flicking briefly yet somehow lazily across her tank top and shorts set. “You must bring in loads of extra business,” he said softly. “Especially to the—ahem—Amazing Annex.”  
  
Ginny had taken off her robes while she was working. She decided at that moment that she had never fully appreciated before just how much there was to be said for good thick robes. They would have concealed the fiery blush was currently spreading up her chest and neck. As it was, however, it was displayed for Malfoy to see.   
  
“Why on earth would you care about the Annex?” she blurted. “I’m sure you could have representatives from the manufacturer come and deliver that sort of thing to Malfoy Manor. No! I know how it must work. Your own private bed-elf supplies everything you need!”  
  
Malfoy laughed quietly. He had a strange laugh, she thought. Very restrained, as if he was afraid someone would overhear him.  _Oh, what’s wrong with me!_  
  
“Get out, Malfoy,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.   
  
“No, I don’t think so. I just got here. And anyway I don’t have a bed-elf. Zabini does; if you ever want to hear about them, he goes on about his by the hour. I want to hear about the Amazing Annex.” He sat on a box marked Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes—Special Delivery. Do not open without fully trained Aurors on hand! and crossed one leg over the other in a comfortable way, apparently preparing for a long stay.   
  
Ginny took a step backwards, and then narrowed her eyes, looking at Malfoy appraisingly. For some reason, he found her embarrassment more entertaining than whatever Junior Death Eater activity he otherwise would have been up to today. Merlin only knew why. And for some even more inexplicable reason, he found it amusing to sham at civility with her. Her spine stiffened.  _You want to play games, Malfoy? We’ll play games._  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have the key to the Annex,” she said, in a falsely pleasant voice. “Fred keeps it, you know. But I can give you a sort of virtual tour.” She picked up a joke wand from an open box and began to use it as a pointer, outlining an imaginary map on the wall.   
  
“When you walk in the door, the first thing you see is the Crumple-Horned Snorkack Horn Display. They vibrate naturally, you know.”  
  
“That explains why Lovegood was so eager to find them,” murmured Malfoy. She ignored him.   
  
“Next,” said Ginny, “we have the complete Little Lady line of Mesmerizing Magic Wands. Then there are Vibrating Sugar Quills, perfect for getting through those boring History of Magic classes. They’re quite popular with the students. We carry the latest model of the Helpful Handy House-Elf, complete with ears that twirl in three different directions, the Fishnet Fantasy Line of Personal Enhancement Robes, Sizzling Sorceress Brand Personal Lube, and Wanton Witch Wanda, the Luscious Latex Love Doll.” She stole a quick glance at him. His grey eyes were very amused.   
  
“And, of course,” she said, “we do have an item that I’m sure would be of great personal interest to you, Malfoy. Professor Murray’s Magical Extenders for Those Extra Centimetres. Guaranteed to stay in place under the most vigorous use. We don’t have any Extra-Extra-Smalls right now, but they can be special ordered. You might find those very useful, Malfoy. You know.” She winked at him. “Just in case you ever get tired of hearing your girlfriends complain that you aren’t quite… adequate… to the task at hand. You don’t want to be… caught short at a time like that, do you? And we sell those in brown paper sacks. No-one will ever know.” Ginny gave him a very sweet smile.   
  
Malfoy laughed. “What a wickedly sharp little tongue you have, Weasley! I never would have guessed. But wouldn’t you send owls to everyone who’s ever been in Gryffindor the moment I left the shop?”  
  
“No. But I might take out an ad in the Daily Prophet,” she said demurely. “Will it be necessary, Malfoy?”  
  
“Not in the least,” was all he said, but his eyes said much more. Ginny felt bravado drain out of her like air from a balloon .  
  
“I’m busy,” she said, turning abruptly. “Really busy. Extraordinarily busy…” She whacked the joke wand against the box on a shelf as she turned, and it became a rubber chicken, flying into the air with a loud gobble. She shrieked and scrambled away from the falling box. After a moment, she peeked up, and saw that it had not fallen on her head. Malfoy was carefully replacing it on a shelf.  _How did he do that?_  
  
“You ought to be more careful, Weasley,” he said. “Are you always this clumsy?”  
  
_Only when you’re around!_ Luckily, her brain had caught up with her mouth by then, and Ginny didn’t actually say the words. But he was making her nervous, and she wanted him gone.  
  
“Look, what do you really want, Malfoy?” she asked. “If it’s to embarrass me, I suppose you’ve succeeded. If it’s to buy something, you’ll have to wait until Fred and George get back. If you honestly think they’d sell you something without hexing you.”  
  
He looked at her. She looked at him closely for the first time since he’d come into the shop—for the first time ever, really. Even at the height of summer heat, he was still wearing robes, when most witches and wizards had discarded them for Muggle clothing almost all the time. His gleaming, pale hair was perfect, as always, not a strand out of place, and his shoes were shined to a high gloss. The perfection of him was intimidating even though he wasn’t physically perfect at all. He was too thin, too pale, his face still too narrow and sharp, his cheekbones too high, his eyes too bright and too large. She needed to stop looking at him, and she knew it, but she could not seem to make herself do it.   
  
Malfoy took a deep breath, and seemed about to speak.   
  
The front doorbell tinkled. The sound broke the spell.   
  
“Will you just go?” Ginny hissed. “That’s probably Fred and George back early! Go out the back.”  
  
Malfoy nodded, and turned to go. It didn’t make any sense at all. Ginny knew it. But she wanted him to say goodbye to her, and he did not.   
  
“Goodbye and good riddance,” she muttered under her breath, instead. “And I hope I never see you again!”  
  
He turned back to her, all his white teeth flashing in a sudden grin. “Really?” he said, in a voice that was almost a purr. Then he was gone.   
  
Colin Creevey’s brows knitted together in a perplexed way when he came into the back of the store and saw Ginny sitting on the floor. “What are you doing down there, Gin?” He sat next to her. “Are they making you scrub that floor with a toothbrush again so the Cleaning spell doesn’t disturb all the joke wands? They’re working you too hard, you shouldn’t put up with it. Or Fred is, anyway.”  
  
“Hi, Colin. No, that’s not it,” said Ginny. “What time is it?”  
  
“Almost eight. Aren’t those brothers of yours back from the hags yet? When are you going to get to eat?”  
  
“He was here longer than I thought,” she said abstractedly. “And we actually had something resembling a civil conversation. I don’t believe it. No—it’s worse than that. I believe it, but I don’t understand it.”  
  
“He? Who’s he? Did Harry come in? I’ve never heard the two of you have anything but a civil conversation. It’s a bit dull to listen to, actually,” said Colin thoughtfully.   
  
“No,” sighed Ginny. “It was Draco Malfoy.”  
  
Colin’s eyebrows shot up until they nearly hit his hairline. “Oh ho, is it so? Do tell.”  
  
“There’s nothing to tell. I’m starving, Colin. Let’s go have dinner.” She made as if to get up. He pulled her back down to the floor by the edge of her shorts.   
  
“We can’t go anywhere until your brothers get back. C’mon. Dish.”   
  
“The only dish I want to see has steak and kidney pie in it. And I just saw Fred and George outside.” Ginny got up and headed for the door, Colin reluctantly following.   
  
***  
  
Although he spent an hour in the taproom of the Leaky Cauldron tormenting her for details, she resolutely refused to give them, and at last he subsided. They sat silently for several moments, the music from a radio at the bar filling the air. It didn’t sound like the WWN, Ginny thought, but then people in Diagon Alley generally could pick up Muggle radio. The voice was sweet and tinged with an aching sound.   
  
_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you’re here with me…_  
  
“You’ve always told me everything before,” Colin finally said sulkily. “Didn’t I tell you about the time when Ernie MacMillan punched me in the nose after I took a picture of him and Susan Bones in that broom closet?”  
  
“Yes, Colin.” Ginny pushed a bite of steak about on her plate with a fork.   
  
“And didn’t I tell you and only you when I finally came out last year?”  
  
“Yes, Colin.”  
  
“And didn’t I share all the details with you when I started dating Justin Finch-Fletchley, not that that ended very well. I can’t imagine why he objected to me taking nude photographs of him while he was asleep in the Room of Requirement—“  
  
“Well, I think it was the way they got posted in the Gryffindor common room, Colin.”   
  
“That wasn’t my fault!” Colin exclaimed. “How was I to know that that roll was going to get mixed up with the Quidditch team photos?”  
  
“Never mind!” Ginny flapped a hand impatiently. But in truth, she didn’t mind the way in which the subject had been changed. She knew that she couldn’t tell anyone about that strange, strange hour with Draco Malfoy in the back room of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, not even Colin, who had become her confidant in the past year.  _And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not as if it’s ever going to happen again_ , she thought.   
  
But it did. That evening was the first time they had ever really spoken to each other civilly, but it was not the last. Ginny never saw Malfoy when she was with other people, or when he was, but he kept turning up at odd times—while she was working by herself in the shop, when she was walking down Diagon Alley in the evening, or when she was eating ice cream at Florescan Fortescue’s at some late hour when nobody else was there. In the autumn, she sometimes passed him in the hall with Crabbe, Goyle, and his gang of Slytherins, Pansy or some other girl generally hanging off his arm. His gaze skipped over her like water off a hot stone, and she had tried to pretend that she didn’t feel disappointed. Because, of course, she couldn’t feel any such thing when it came to Malfoy, and so she clearly didn’t.   
  
But over the first Hogsmeade weekend, when she was helping Fred and George in the shop for the day, Malfoy turned up after they’d gone to talk to a supplier and she was alone. He’d brought her a scone with butter on it. Pride demanded that she refuse it, but Ginny was starving, and hunger had won out. He hadn’t been particularly polite. He’d wondered aloud if the Weasleys had enough money to feed her, as such was apparently not the case, considering the way she was going at that scone. But the next Hogsmeade weekend, he was there as well. Ginny never had figured out why on earth he was in Diagon Alley when all of his friends were in Hogsmeade, and she had had to receive special permission to help her brothers the way she did. She never asked, and he never told her. But she knew now what she had tried very hard not to know before. She could never tell anyone about this. Luna knew, but she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut. Colin knew, but and he’d never bothered her for details again after that first time. But… she now had a strange, irregular sort of… thing… with Malfoy.   
  
He wasn’t exactly kind to her, and she was never precisely pleasant to him. He mocked her and needled her, and nothing made his teeth flash in that maddening grin like thoroughly getting her goat with some cutting comment. But it was a real grin, not the smirk he’d always shown everyone else she knew. He was showing her some part of himself that she had never before dreamed even existed, that was a thing apart from his carefully crafted persona as the Slytherin Prince, and she did not have the strength to turn him away entirely, as she swore she would do next time after each odd encounter. But surely it couldn’t go on much longer. Malfoy would tire of… well, of whatever this was, and then it would be over. _I absolutely won’t speak to him over the Christmas holidays,_ Ginny resolved firmly that December.  _It’ll be a clean break._  
  
After all, if things continued as they were, Harry might eventually find out. And Ginny had already decided that she would never, ever allow that to happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all readers, reviewers, and kudo-ers! :)

December 20th, 1997   
Diagon Alley  
Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes  
.   
Fred was coming up the aisle inside the shop, headed straight for the door. He made a beckoning motion to Ginny. Her heart sank. He’d seen her. All she could hope for was that he hadn’t seen Malfoy, since he was standing on the other side of the drunkenly leaning Father Christmas and should have been invisible to anyone looking out from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Draco’s eyes followed Fred, and Ginny knew that he’d seen her brother, as well.   
  
“What are you up to now, Weasley?” he asked softly.   
  
“Nothing that concerns you, Malfoy.”   
  
“Does the fair maiden need a spot of rescuing, perhaps?” Draco asked. His mouth mocked her, but his grey eyes were very steady. She could not bear the scrutiny of his bright eyes. They weren’t dark and opaque like other peoples’, but they never seemed to reveal any secrets behind themselves, either. She always felt that if she looked into them too long, they would swallow her up.   
  
“I have to go back inside,” Ginny said. “I’m needed there.” And she made herself turn and walk through the door, her legs lagging behind her unwilling body.   
  
She saw Harry standing near the back, well away from the dreaded side room with the Magical Mistletoe hanging over its lintel. Even from this distance she could see that he looked tired, almost ill, and he’d grown too thin since the start of his seventh year. He smiled when he saw her, and as always, the smile lit up his face. She had a wave of warm, soft feelings for him then. At that moment, she couldn’t understand why she’d been trying to avoid him.  _It’s only Fred constantly trying to push us together, to set things up—as if we needed that. I could just smack him. No… if he keeps annoying me like this, he’ll find out that I’m as good with the Bat-Bogey Hex as I ever was!_  
  
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, sincerely.   
  
“So am I,” Harry told her. “All I’ve done is Apparate from place to place since the holidays started. At least I don’t have to Floo anymore. Suppose that’s something. But I’ve hardly had a chance to sit down. Seeing you…” He curled a ringlet of her hair around one of his fingers. “It’s restful, Ginny. It’s like coming home.”  
  
“You did go to the Burrow though, didn’t you? How’s Ron?”  
  
“All but locked in his bedroom with Hermione standing over him, holding a whip in one hand and a NEWT study guide in the other. You know he hasn’t studied one bit all term long, right?”  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know, but it’s easy to believe. I’ll see him on Christmas Eve, I suppose. How’s Mum?”  
  
A shadow passed over Harry’s face, just for an instant. He recovered himself quickly.   
  
“Baking up a storm. Enough fruitcake to feed an army, and she’s got the biggest turkey you ever saw for the Yule feast.”  
  
“Mum’s in her element,” said Ginny with a laugh. “Is Charlie back yet? How about Bill?”  
  
“Charlie, yes. And Bill will be in a couple of days. He’s finishing up a bit of work for Gringott’s in Provence. Going through the caves, you know—there are treasures that haven’t been uncovered since Neanderthals lived there. But if anybody can get them, it’s Bill.”   
  
Talking to Harry was wonderful, and it made her feel that her earlier fears had been the silliest things in the world. For the past year, since he’d begun to really talk to her, it had always been wonderful. They chatted about the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s chances of beating Hufflepuff just after Christmas break, and the glimpses Harry had caught of the sweaters Molly Weasley was knitting for her children this year (“Orange, Ginny! I swear, they’re all Chudley Cannons orange. She’s doing them to match that stupid hat Ron has.”) She chided him for not staying by Ron’s side to study for his NEWT’s, although, of course, as she assured him, she was very glad that he had come to see her. (“I can’t bear Hermione rabbiting on at me about NEWT’s twenty-four hours a day. It’s a lot easier to take once the school term starts.”) She asked him about Christmas presents he’d already received, hesitating a little after she realized that it might not be one of his favorite subjects. He only snickered.   
  
“Yeah, I got one, all right. My aunt and uncle already sent my Christmas present to Hogwarts. I think it might be the worst one yet-- it’s an AOL 7.0 disc. Dudley got a Soloflex, a weight bench, and a Stairmaster.”   
  
Ginny’s heart twisted a little, as it always did when Harry told her anything about his Muggle relatives and how badly they’d always treated him. His face was unconcerned and smiling. Still, she moved on to something she was sure would be a happier topic.   
  
“Who’s staying at school over the holidays this year?” she asked him.   
  
“A couple of Gryffindor third years, some Hufflepuffs… Cho Chang’s little sister, Kim, she’s a second-year Ravenclaw… oh, and I almost forgot.” Harry’s face darkened. “Malfoy.”  
  
“Oh?” said Ginny, sincerely hoping that her voice sounded completely normal. Apparently, this hadn’t been such a safe subject for conversation, after all.   
  
“Yes. His little Slytherin gang’s there as well. Pansy and Ivy Parkinson, ugh. They’re the ones I saw first, then Crabbe and Goyle, of course… but really, none of them count except Malfoy. And nobody seems to know why he’s there. Probably plotting something.”   
  
“I’m sure you’re right,” Ginny said hurriedly. “How about the teachers? Are they all doing well?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “I suppose so. Snape looks as evil as ever. God, to think that I’m going to have Advanced Potions with him all spring term. McGonagall’s a bit frail these days; she was never really the same after getting hit with those curses last year… but she seems okay…”  
  
“How about Dumbledore?”  
  
Harry’s face shuttered itself against her as rapidly as a window slamming shut. “I saw him today,” he said. Ginny waited. It seemed as if Harry would definitely say something more; as if that statement had only been the beginning of a long conversation. But he was silent. She realized that he wasn’t going to tell her what he and the Headmaster had spoken about, after all, and if he didn’t want to, she wasn’t going to ask. She wished that she had never raised the topic of teachers.   
  
“You’ve been speaking to him a lot lately, haven’t you?” she said, carefully. “I mean, you were before the end of autumn term.”  
  
“Yes,” he said. Then he moved toward her, and she smelled the complex spicy-clove scent that was Harry, and that would always mean him to her. “Hold me, Ginny,” he said. She did it gladly. She liked the feel of Harry in her arms, the solid strength in his shoulders and the thick untidy softness of his hair, and his faint trembling brought out a protective instinct in her. _I love him_ , she thought. _I really do. I must…_ _  
_  
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.   
  
“Nothing,” he said. He pulled back from her a little and searched her face as if he hoped she’d say what he most longed to hear, but could not tell her what it was. She was suddenly very aware that they were both standing right underneath the mistletoe. Harry’s eyes went up to it. Ginny blushed.   
  
“Frightfully interesting about mistletoe, isn’t it?” she asked. “Do you know the story?” Without waiting to hear his reply, she plunged on. “I learned it in History of Magic class, so you must’ve as well, I imagine. Remember? The Norse god Loki killed Baldur with a sprig of mistletoe, so Lord Morpheus of the Endless sentenced him to be chained to the Rock of Torment in the underworld with the serpent Nidhogg dripping poison on him constantly until Ragnarok, the fall of gods and men. Loki’s only refuge is in the dreams of mortals, I think. Funny how that kind of story should’ve led to mistletoe being associated with kissing, don’t you think? I wonder how that ever happened—“ Ginny knew that she was babbling, but she could not seem to stop. But Harry leaned towards her then, and she did fall silent.   
  
The instant Harry’s lips touched hers, it all began to go wrong. The sense of rightness and peace drained away as if he were taking it from her without even realizing he did it. Ginny struggled fiercely with what was blooming in her own mind. She kissed him back, perhaps even more passionately than she would have done if she’d truly felt the emotions she so wanted to feel. Harry crushed her to him and ran his hands up and down her sides, his lips becoming more demanding. He let go her mouth and started to press a trail of burning kisses down the side of her neck. The sense of wrongness rose in her throat until Ginny thought it would surely burst out of her lips. _Then Harry will see it,_ she thought crazily,  _and he’ll know something’s wrong. What will it look like, I wonder? Dark and ugly, like a little goblin? Or beating as frantically as the heart of a wild bird in a cage?_  
  
“Ginny!” a voice called from the front of the shop. “Where are you? I’m simply starving. Come on.”  
  
“It’s Colin,” said Ginny.   
  
Harry stepped away from her. “I need to get back to Hogwarts, anyway,” he said quietly.   
  
“All—all right,” said Ginny. She tried not to feel relieved at the fact that he wouldn’t be joining them for dinner.   
  
“I’ll see you again tomorrow night, though,” said Harry, opening the back door to the alley. “I have something for you, Ginny. I… I thought I’d come by your rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, to give it to you. You’re staying there over the holidays, right?”  
  
She nodded. “Fred and George didn’t have any extra space at all in their flat, and they need me at such odd hours that I couldn’t sleep at home.”   
  
“I’ll see you then,” Harry repeated. “I want to see you, Ginny. We haven’t really had any time to see each other. Alone, I mean.”   
  
She watched his dark head retreat down the back alley, trying to tamp down the strange feeling that was still rising in her throat. The one that had begun when he kissed her.   
  
***  
  
“You look like you’ve had a lovely day so far,” said Colin over the ruins of Yorkshire pudding and bubble and squeak at the table in the taproom of the Leaky Cauldron. The radio near the bar seemed to be playing constantly now, and it was always tuned to some Muggle station or other. Thankfully, thought Ginny, it rarely played Christmas carols.   
_  
You’re been talking in your sleep,  
Sleeping in your dreams,   
With some sweet lover…  
I’ve heard it said that dreamers never lie.   
_  
“Don’t ask,” she said. “I want a cigarette.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “You shouldn’t be smoking. What if your mother found out?”  
  
“I’ll risk it.”  
  
“Anything wrong, Gin?”  
  
“Not a thing. Just give me a drag off yours, Colly.” She took his cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply into her lungs, coughing at the dirty cinnamon nicotine rush of it. _Must be a Muggle one. They’re so much stronger_. Still she kept pulling at the cigarette, as if wanting something more from it than it could give her.   
  
“Owl came with this when you were gone,” said George, handing Ginny a folded parchment as she walked back into the shop an hour later. 

  
“Surprised you didn’t try to read it,” she said, taking the sheaf of paper with its red wax seal.   
  
“Oh, we did,” Fred assured her. “Or, I did, anyway. But we haven’t perfected the Super-Sneaky Re-Sticky Seal Opener yet. The way it works now, an opened letter looks like it’s never been touched-- but it does have a bad habit of shrieking when the recipient finally gets it.”  
  
“That’s good to know,” sighed Ginny, walking back towards the storage shelves and opening the parchment with a fingernail. She read it. Then she went to the very back of the shop, going behind a stack of Whizzing Whirligigs where she knew Fred and George couldn’t see her, and read it again. Then a third time, as if one final reading might twist the message into a different shape. Slowly, she refolded it and put in a pocket of her outer robe.   
  
“Was that from Mum?” asked Fred when Ginny re-emerged.   
  
“Yes,” she said.   
  
“What’d it say?”  
  
Ginny decided that her brother was fully capable of whipping up an undetectable Truth Serum and secretly dosing her with it if he suspected she was hiding anything about the contents of that letter. She bent over to fasten a buckle on one of her boots, carefully arranging her face into an open, unconcerned expression. “She doesn’t like me to stay at the Leaky Cauldron the week before Christmas, that’s all. She’s bothering me again about coming home and helping with all the holiday preparations.”  
  
“Well, you can’t,” said Fred flatly. “We need you here. Remember the time we had to open the shop at three in the morning so the goblins could come in and buy Financial Fidelius charms? You’re stopping here until Christmas Eve, sis.”  
  
Ginny shrugged. “I know.”  
  
As she walked back towards the shelves with a heap of boxes in her arms, George tapped her arm. “You all right, Gin?” he asked quietly.   
  
She looked away. It had always been much harder to fool George. “Yes,” she said.   
  
***  
  
Cigarettes made in the wizarding world are very mild; they have no effect, really, and are mostly used simply to relax. But in that secret world, Muggle cigarettes are considered drugs, in all the shameful implications of that word. Ginny had started secretly using them during the summer, when she needed to calm herself down. The trick isn’t working tonight, though, she thought. Very dimly, she could hear Fred’s off-key voice singing a Muggle song as he stacked boxes inside the shop.   
_  
Dream lover, where are you with a love, oh, so true?  
And I hand that can hold, to feel you near as I grow old?  
'cause I want (yeah-yeah yeah) a girl (yeah-yeah yeah) to call (yeah-yeah yeah) my  
own (yeah-yeah)  
I want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone…  
_  
She drew deeply on the cigarette and let her breath out slowly, trying to make smoke rings. She heard footsteps walking up to her, but did not turn her head to see, and she was not surprised when she heard Draco’s deep, drawling voice.   
  
“What do I see here? Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He moves to stand next to her and leans against the wall of the alley, shaking his head. “Ginny Weasley, smoking a Muggle cigarette.”  
  
“How do you know that’s what it is?” she asked. It was just too much trouble to show surprise at seeing him when she didn’t feel surprised, and he didn’t seem to expect that reaction anyway.   
  
“Because I smoke them too. American Spirit, isn’t it? Give me one.”  
  
She pulled a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket and gave it to him. She expected him to light it with the end of his wand, as she had, but he leaned towards her and touched the tip of his cigarette to hers. It caught and began to burn, a tiny winking circle of red in the near-blackness of the alley.   
  
“I’m surprised you use such a Muggle thing,” she said.   
  
“I’m more surprised at you,” he said easily, propping one foot up against the brick wall. “What would your mother think to see her sweet, innocent little daughter smoking?”  
  
Ginny laughed. The sound was much harsher than she’d intended for it to be. “You know that’s not true, don’t you, Malfoy?”  
  
“Which part have you failed at, Weasley? Sweetness, or innocence?”  
  
“Both,” she said.  
  
The moon came out from behind a cloud, briefly illuminating Draco’s face, casting deep shadows across his nose and mouth and chin. He looked amused. “Is that so,” he said.   
  
Ginny shrugged. She knew perfectly well what he thought she meant. He was wrong, but she didn’t want to correct him. She wasn’t at all sure why.   
  
“Did you ever catch up with Pansy again?” she asked.   
  
“Unfortunately, yes.”  
  
Ginny thought that today was the first time he had ever spoken to her when Pansy or anyone else he knew was within earshot. It was also the first time he had ever invited her anywhere. If he was even serious about that invitation.   
  
“What a strange name for a club,  _Je Reve,_ ” she said. “French, isn’t it?” It didn’t occur to her until the words were out of her mouth that they sounded dreadfully disconnected from anything else they’d been talking about. But then, the entire conversation was sounding that way.   
  
“Creole,” said Malfoy. “The place is run by expatriate wizards from Haiti and Jamaica and Cuba, you see. They all had some reason for leaving and they know they’ll never be invited back, so they understand… how to be discreet.”  
  
Ginny nodded. “Do you spend a lot of time there?”  
  
“I’m staying in rooms over the club during the holidays.”  
  
She tried not to show how surprised she was at that piece of news. Why would Draco Malfoy be staying anywhere at all this time of year other than Malfoy Manor?  _Maybe Harry was right. Maybe he really is plotting something or other. Funny how I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I’ve got other things to worry about…_  
  
She had been looking at him much too long, and she realized it too late. The familiar shape of the mocking grin took up residence on his face.   
  
“I’ll be there tomorrow night, if you’d care to come and visit. It’s an interesting place. Well worth checking out. And easy to find. Right next to Borgin and Burkes.” He took something out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Show this at the door, and they’ll let you in.” The thing felt small and hard, but she did not take her eyes off his to see what it was.   
  
“Ginny!” Fred called from inside the shop. “You had your five-minute break. Get back in here! I need you to invoice all the Portable Holes for Disappearing Homework deliveries!”  
  
Ginny ground her cigarette butt underfoot. “I have to go.”  
  
Draco caught at her arm. She looked down at his hand. In the stark moonlight, it looked cut off from the rest of his body, just as her arm did from hers. “I’ll see you again, Weasley,” he said. “Soon.” The words were so flat and emotionless that they might have been a threat. But she only nodded in reply and turned to go back into the shop. She didn’t look back at Draco, but she could tell that he didn’t move until she had gone inside because she couldn’t hear his footsteps on the cobblestones.   
  
It was only then that she opened her closed hand and looked down at the thing Malfoy had placed there. It was a little silver serpent coiled into a circle. She put it into the pocket of her robes with a gesture that was as nearly as possible unconscious.   
  
After midnight, George walked her back to the Leaky Cauldron and dropped her off at her room. 

  
“Don’t come in until noon tomorrow, Gin,” he said at her door. “We worked you pretty hard tonight, I know.” She nodded.   
  
“Are you going to be all right?”  
  
“Of course,” she said.   
  
A little fire burned in the grate, and Ginny pulled up one of the wing-back chairs to it. She tapped the orange witchlight on the little table and unfolded the parchment she had received that afternoon. The light played over it, casting uneven shadows on the words. She almost knew them by heart, by now.   
  
_Ginny dear,_

  
I do hope that Fred and George aren’t working you too hard. I’m glad that you’re willing to help your brothers, dear, but don’t let them run you ragged. Come home soon, sweetheart, and enjoy Christmas with us. Between Ron, Hermione, Charlie, Bill, and your father and I, it’s a full house. But we need you here, Ginny; it isn’t Yule without you. 

  
I’m really writing you about something else, though, and I didn’t want to wait until you returned home on Christmas Eve. It’s the sort of news that won’t wait. Ginny, dear, I have the most wonderful secret to tell you. But you must promise to keep it strictly to yourself, for now. Although Harry certainly is involved with the secret, there are things in this world that women must keep to themselves. And there are things that only a mother can explain to her daughter, which is why I asked Albus Dumbledore to let me be the one to explain it to you.   
  
I know very well that you’ve always been so terribly fond of Harry. And in the past year, he’s opened his eyes and found a lovely, charming young lady right in front of him, rather than chasing after girls that aren’t nearly good enough for him.(That’s a little secret too, and I hope you won’t share it with Cho and Luna. They’re charming girls as well, but we both know, dear, that they’re not in your class.) I wish in a way—I really do, dear—that the unfolding of your emotions towards each other could be left to follow a path that mattered to nobody but yourselves. But such is not the case.   
  
Ginny, you’ve always been mature for your years. I’ve never told you this, but you are the wisest of my children. Yet another thing to keep to yourself. And you are wise enough, and mature enough, to understand what I am about to write to you.   
  
You and Harry are now under a very powerful Binding charm, which Albus and I cast upon the two of you last week. This bond means that he must marry you directly after his eighteenth birthday. I can’t explain anything more to you now, but believe me, daughter, this is necessary. Not only for the two of you, but for us all.   
  
So now we can plan a summer wedding. Isn’t that wonderful? A theme of white roses, I think, and peace lilies to go with your lovely hair. But we can discuss that much more later, dear. I’ll see you on Christmas Eve. And please believe me, Ginny, that all my love, all my care, and all my thoughts go with you, from now until then, and from today until always.   
  
_Much, much, love,  
Mum._   
  
Ginny carefully refolded the parchment and tucked it into her purse. She slipped between the flannel sheets on the four-poster bed. They were toasty warm; Tom the innkeeper must have sent a maid to run a magical warming-pan between them. She watched the last dying embers of the fire cast their long shadows across the floor of the room. There really seemed to be no thoughts in her head just now. It was as if they were all contained behind a thick wall that she herself had erected.   
  
But as she drifted off to sleep, her defenses relaxed, and she remembered one of the many days she had spent with Hermione in the library during the autumn. There was a book they’d got out of the Restricted Section, an extremely old one with a gnarled green silk cover and nearly half its pages looking as if they’d been eaten away by rats. There was a large section about Binding spells _. Yes. I remember now… Binding spells, and how they could be broken_. Then her mind fell into sleep, and that last waking thought drifted down and through like an autumn leaf on the wind.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all readers, reviewers, and kudo-ers! :)

  
  
  
************************************************************  
  
Ginny had strange dreams that night about being chased by giant snakes down corridors that seemed to have no end; awful dreams that sent her sitting bolt upright at some ungodly hour, gasping for air, clutching at the bedclothes. Her hair was stuck to her forehead in sweaty little wisps, and her flannel robe felt clammy. She took a long drink of water from the glass by the bedside and tried to control her breathing. The little silver serpent winked at her from the night table when she put back the glass. Seeing it brought back the terrifying feeling of the dream again, and she struggled against a wave of fear, anguish, panic… excitement? No. She shook her head decisively.   
  
Ginny got up to stir the fire with a poker, then sat on the couch, chin in her hands, staring at the leaping flames without seeing them. _I’ve been behaving so strangely lately,_ she thought. _And thinking such odd thoughts. I don’t know what’s the matter with me_. She leaned back against the couch. It was almost uncomfortably warm this close to the fire, now. She slipped off her flannel robe. She wore a thin cotton nightgown under it, and the material had stuck to her body in places, she’d been sweating so much. From fear, of course. That horrible snake was chasing me…   
  
She remembered a bit more of the dream, now. She had run and run and run from the snake, which was somehow more than a snake, since it was running too, and so had to have feet. It was long and sinuous and dressed all in Slytherin green, a poisonous enamel yellow-green that she thought was called chartreuse. But the colour was pretty, too. In fact… in fact, she’d wanted to touch it. She had stopped, and turned, and looked back at the snake-thing. He had walked or slithered towards her and had come close enough so that she could touch…  
  
Unconsciously, Ginny’s hands smoothed down her sides, feeling the deep curve of her waist and the sinewy curve of her hips, then up again to her full, round breasts.   
  
She had touched the snake. That was it. And the snake had touched her. It-he-had hands, and those hands had touched her everywhere.   
  
One of Ginny’s own hands strayed between her legs, and the other shoved her flimsy nightgown up to her waist.   
  
The snake had pulled her into an embrace, and it was the embrace of both a man and a snake, even as the snake-thing was both. His arms wrapped around her, and his fingers knew where to touch…  
  
Ginny’s fingers pushed aside her plain white cotton underwear, the underwear that her mother had always chosen for her because it was so practical. Beneath it, she was already wet. Her fingers slipped along the wetness as the fingers of the snake-man had done. They found the exquisitely sensitive little nub hidden in her folds. She began to breathe in little gasps. Close, she was already close, and this wouldn’t take long. She could feel her body tightening itself already, readying for the orgasm that was so close. Her slender fingers rubbed and rubbed, bringing her just to the brink.   
  
The man was also a snake, and his lower body coiled around hers, dragging her down to the floor. He wound himself around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. She tried to scream, but she could not make a sound. And she had no strength to scream anyway; the strength to fight him drained away as his skillful hands brought her to climax, and as his snake’s body crushed her to death. She saw his face as her eyes closed for the last time, narrow and pale, with burning grey eyes. It was the face of Draco Malfoy…  
  
And even as she remembered the full horror of the nightmare, pleasure rippled through Ginny’s body, and she writhed against her hand on the couch, biting at one of the pillows to keep from crying out.   
  
Afterwards, she got the silver serpent from the bedside table and weighed it in her hand. _It’s this thing. It’s got to be. I’ll bet it’s got some sort of evil charm on it. And Malfoy put it there._ So she clearly had to throw it in the fire.   
  
_But, wait…  
_  
Ginny hesitated, trying to think clearly, to sort out all the information in her mind. She had been talking to Malfoy for months. Clearly she couldn’t blame that on any charm. She had tried to avoid Harry before she’d ever talked to Malfoy today, and well before he’d given her the serpent charm. And then there was the letter. That, too, had come before she’d received the charm.   
  
In the end, Ginny carefully wrapped up the serpent in a scrap of cloth and put it in a zippered compartment in her purse. If it really was charmed, she told herself, it might be far more dangerous to destroy it. _And it’s awfully hard to believe that it would’ve caused me to have that nightmare. If Malfoy really did charm it, I would think that’d be the last thing he’d want to happen. A dream like that might warn me._  
  
And it had, Ginny decided as she got back into bed. She had been drifting closer and closer to the brink of something monstrous. _Betrayal_ was the word that went through the back of her mind. But she did not even admit that idea into conscious thought. It was all over with now. Nipped in the bud, she repeated to herself over and over. She would never speak to Malfoy again. And when Harry came to visit her that night, she would give him the best welcome that he could possibly have hoped for.   
  
But Ginny lay awake until dawn lightened the sky outside her window, staring up at the canopy of her four-poster bed.   
***  
Sunlight spilled into the room and beat against her closed eyelids. She sat up groggily, rubbing her head, wincing. _It’s got to be one o’clock at least! Oh, what will Fred and George say…_ _  
_  
But when she padded to the door to order breakfast, or rather, as she thought ruefully, lunch, she saw a note taped just above the doorknob.   
  
_Sister dear-  
Quick note. Must dash. Shipment of Nuclear Stinkbombs just came in; new item, very excited. I’ve got a hiding place the Illegal Use of Magic squad will never find, should their unfortunate presence ever darken our door. Harry stopped by; said he’d be in to see you at eight. So get your beauty sleep, Gin, and don’t come in until tomorrow. That’s an order from your boss.   
Love,   
Fred  
  
P.S.: Normally, I would’ve hexed anybody with a 46th Y-chromosome to within an inch of his life if he told me he’d be stopping by your private rooms by dark of night. But because it’s Harry, I didn’t. I hope you appreciate the self-restraint this took, sister mine. George keeps poking me with his elbow so I’m going to give him the quill now.   
  
_And then, in a quite different hand:  
  
_Gin-  
I’ve only got about thirty seconds to write this since that thick new owl Mum got keeps hitting me in the head with his wings. But I just wanted to say that you mustn’t let yourself get pressured into anything. Not that Harry would. But sometimes events can just seem to carry you along, and-- Ugh. All my brotherly instincts are rising up in revolt just from putting this into words, Gin, but don’t do anything you don’t really want to do. You understand what I mean, don’t you? Good. We won’t speak of it again.   
  
Love,   
George  
  
_Ginny folded the note and tucked it into the trunk at the foot of her bed, next to the letter from her mother. She threw on some comfortable old clothes and went down into the main room for dinner, which she ate mechanically, tasting none of it. Then she walked around Diagon Alley for a bit, trying to enjoy her day off. The hours seemed to drag.   
  
She bought Christmas presents. She found some lovely parchment with white roses on it from the stationery shop for her mother, a new cauldron for Hermione, a broomstick polishing kit for Ron, and a book about ninth-century Anglo-Saxon wizards from Flourish and Blotts for Percy, although she wasn’t sure she’d have the nerve to send it to him, as relations between him and the family were still chilly in the extreme. She pressed her nose up against the glass of Quality Quidditch Supplies to see the new Nimbus 2006, wishing she could buy it for Harry. She hadn’t been able to find a present for him that day; nothing seemed to fit into both her budget and his wishes. She went into Madame Malkin’s Robe Shop and drooled over several sets of absolutely unaffordable robes that her mother would have called completely impractical, as they no doubt were. She fingered a lace and silk concoction near the back that was definitely never meant to be worn outside a bedroom. It was emerald green-no, that wasn’t quite it. There was an undertone of gold in the green, and a tint of yellow over it. Chartreuse. She shivered and dropped the bodice of the gown.   
  
“Let’s make this fast. I still have to pick up those stupid robes,” said a high, breathy, rather whiny voice. Ginny froze. Pansy Parkinson!   
  
A muffled voice mumbled something in response. Ginny couldn’t even tell it if it was male or female.   
  
“I know, I know. I was supposed to pick them up on the twenty-second. But I was so upset; I never made it here. All I wanted to do was to see you.”   
  
Ginny decided that the answering voice definitely had to be male, even though she heard no more of it. _Pansy’s cheating on Malfoy! Oh, I wish I could get her into trouble over this… but then again, I don’t think he’d care._ The thought warmed her, and she did not reason out why.   
  
“It’ll just be a minute.” Pansy’s voice again. Her footsteps moved away, and Ginny breathed more freely. The Slytherin girl and her companion had to be almost across the room from her, and she was separated from them by several racks of robes. If she just kept quiet for a bit, Pansy would get her horrible robes and leave without ever realizing Ginny was there.   
  
“I’m so glad I don’t have to see him today…” said Pansy, still walking around the room. “What do think of this one? It’s more emerald green.”  
  
Ginny crouched down behind a rack of robes and pressed her ear into them as far as she dared, holding her breath. _Now I’ll find out who she’s talking to! Is it Theodore Nott, I wonder? But he’s such a loner; I’ve never seen him with anybody from Draco’s gang. And I think he’s too clever for the likes of her. Blaise Zabini? Maybe… Crabbe? Goyle? Crabbe and Goyle? Ugh._ _  
_  
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said a dreamy voice. “My mother used to experiment on anemic frogs. It gives you that same sort of look they had, Pansy.”  
  
_Luna Lovegood?!?_ Ginny was so shocked to hear the voice of her friend that she fell over backwards.   
  
“What was that?” asked Pansy, her voice suddenly sharp. “It came from over there, behind those robes!”  
  
“You sound a bit worried,” Luna said calmly.   
  
“You’re bloody right I am! I’ll bet it’s that first-year Slytherin who looks exactly like a rat. I wouldn’t put it an inch past Draco Malfoy to pay somebody to spy on me. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to do it himself, and nobody would do it for free… except Crabbe and Goyle, and that didn’t sound loud enough to be either of them…” Pansy’s light, quick steps started towards the rack.   
  
“I’ll look,” said Luna. Her face peeped through the layers of robes at Ginny.   
  
_How-why-_ Ginny began to mouth.   
  
Luna put a finger to her lips. Ginny subsided.   
  
“It was only a cat,” said Luna’s voice from the other side of the room a few minutes later.   
  
“Not a Kneazle, like that fat annoying one Granger has?” Pansy asked suspiciously. “Kneazles can pass on information, you know.”  
  
“A quite ordinary-looking cat,” said Luna soothingly. “It was chasing a mouse. You oughtn’t to get so upset, Pansy. It’s bad for your liver. I have some milk thistle tea at school. I’ll brew it for you later.”  
  
_I never knew Luna could be so quick,_ thought Ginny dazedly. _I suppose she’s in Ravenclaw for a reason, though… but why, why is she here, and with Pansy Parkinson, of all people?_ _  
_  
“I suppose you’re right,” said Pansy, her voice considerably subdued. “It’s just that I’m so on edge all the time these days. Ever since I found out-you know what I found out. I don’t care if that was only a cat, it isn’t safe to talk about it here-“

  
“Likely it isn’t,” Luna agreed.   
  
“I-I can’t stand much more of this, Luna. Sometimes I think I’m going mad.”  
  
“Shh, Pansy. Shh. It’s all right. You’ll be all right,” said Luna, her voice very soft.   
  
Ginny pushed her face through all but the outermost layer of robes when she heard that. Her eyes widened in amazement. Pansy had collapsed in Luna’s arms, weeping, and the Ravenclaw girl was patting her back and caressing her arms.  
  
“What if I can’t do this?” choked out Pansy through her tears.   
  
“Then you can’t, I suppose,” said Luna thoughtfully.   
  
“But I have to do it. I don’t have any choice.”  
  
“There’s always a choice,” said Luna.   
  
“There isn’t! You know there isn’t.”  
  
Luna pressed her lips almost to Pansy’s ear. “Yes, there is,” she whispered. “You know what it is…”  
  
Pansy broke into a fresh storm of weeping. Over her shoulder, Luna looked at Ginny. _Go,_ she mouthed silently. Ginny fled through the back door.   
  
She paced down the snow-covered street, nearly running into last-minute holiday shoppers, her mind full of what she had just seen _. I’ll Owl Luna the minute I get to the post office_ , she decided. _And I’ll ask her what on earth she was playing at!_ _  
_  
But outside of the little post office, she saw a tall figure with a head of brilliantly fair hair. Her heart stopped. She could not move. Then the person turned, and he became a gangly seventh-year Hufflepuff boy who had bleached his hair white with a green streak in an unfortunate Potions accident. Ginny let all her breath out in a rush.   
  
As she walked, she made up her mind that she would have _liked_ to run into Draco that afternoon. Today would have been the perfect opportunity to show him that the strange connection between them was over, and that it never should have gone so far as it had. Ginny rehearsed the dignified speeches she would have given over and over in her head until she realized that she had walked nearly all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron. She looked up. The shadows were long and cold and blue, and the sun was sinking in the west, barely peeping over the horizon now. Nearly five o’clock, she guessed. She dawdled a bit in the Apothecary, looking at packages of wild carrot seeds and finally buying one.   
  
It was only when she was back in her room that Ginny remembered she’d planned to Owl Luna. Later, she decided.   
  
She heated water in a small portable cauldron from her chest and boiled the carrot seeds for precisely ten minutes. She poured the decoction into a cup and drank it, grimacing at its bitter taste. She knew that it was a very effective contraceptive potion and would protect her for the next week, but she did not dwell on that fact. Strong carrot seed tea was also good for preventing the magical flu that was going around, and she’d been wandering around in the winter air around crowds of people all day. 

  
She took a long, hot bath and filed her fingernails, smoothing lotion on her skin. Ginny had learned how to apply makeup from Lavender Brown, although she rarely bothered with it. She sat at the vanity table in the bathroom, darkening her lashes, carefully applying blush to her cheeks until they glowed, and dabbing peach tint on her lips. Then she dressed in front of the standing mirror on the other side of her bed. Ginny had exactly one pair of really pretty knickers in jade green silk. She’d bought them on a trip to a Muggle shop with Lavender and Susan this summer. They’d giggled and whispered and poked each other in the ribs when they saw her buying them. She knew that they’d thought she bought the knicker set for Harry to see.   
  
“I know that jade green’s dreadfully close to Slytherin colors, Ginny, but it works so well on you that Harry won’t care,” Lavender had said, in a matter-of-fact way. “Once you strip down to those, he won’t care about much of anything except-well, you’ll find out soon enough if you don’t know already.” Ginny had blushed, looking at the green silk in her hands, not knowing what she expected to happen if she owned it. But Harry had never seen her in it. Not yet. Not until…   
  
She walked out into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Slowly, she put on the matching green silk brassiere, winding it around her body with a writhe and a twist, looking into the large mirror over the dresser all the while. She wished that she had a pretty robe to wear over it, but she didn’t _. How would I look anyway if I opened the door wearing nothing but that… well, like a perfect slut. That’s how I’d look. And anyway I don’t know if he wants_ …  
  
Lavender’s remembered voice drifted back to her, almost mockingly. _That’s what men always want, what boys always want. It never fails._ _  
_  
_But then, why hasn’t he wanted it from me so far?_    
  
Ginny turned away from the mirror and dressed hurriedly in a plain blue cotton blouse and dark skirt.   
  
At eight o’clock, she heard the light rapping on the door, the quick tap-tap-tap motion that she remembered so well. She opened the door.   
  
“’Lo, Gin,” said Harry. His cheeks were red from the cold and his eyes were a more vivid green than ever. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the side of his mouth, not quite on the lips, feeling his flesh warm against hers.   
  
“Come in,” she said.   
  
He had a bottle of champagne. Ginny raised her eyebrows at it a little as she called downstairs for a bucket of ice to put it in.   
  
“I hope it’s the right kind,” he said. “Fred told me to get-“  
  
“Fred had something to do with this?” asked Ginny with some alarm. “Harry, have you checked that champagne for hexes?”  
  
“I think it’s all right. Fred likes me. I’d be more worried if it came from George. I think the jury’s still out on me a bit where he’s concerned. As his little sister’s boyfriend, anyway.” He grinned at her, the corners of his mouth a bit shaky and tentative, and her heart melted. He was such a dear, sweet boy, and she loved his moments of uncertainty because they showed him as he truly was. There were so few people who had ever seen behind his façade. Ginny felt honored to be one of them, and all her doubts seemed to melt away in the warm rush of that feeling. She seated herself on the couch, and patted the cushion next to her.   
  
“Come sit by me,” she said.   
  
The heat of the fire spread over them, and they talked easily in its flickering warmth. They never seemed to run out of subjects when they spoke to each other like this, Ginny thought. There was no awkwardness between them, as there frequently was at other times, less relaxed times. At moments like this, she was sure that they were good for each other.   
  
Harry had arranged for fruit and cheese and crackers to be sent up, and Ginny was touched at his thoughtfulness. She already knew that the trappings of romance weren’t exactly his strong point. He poured champagne for her, and she giggled as the bubbles went up her nose. He leaned forward, smiling. The fire had burned quite low, and the dancing shadows it cast on his face were very long. He raised his glass.   
  
“To us,” he said.   
  
“To us,” Ginny agreed, and their glasses clinked. It was a small sound, like the dropping of a coin into a wishing well. But as Ginny was to think later, the ripples from that little toast spread outwards as silently as the shock wave from the blast of a Muggle bomb.   
  
Because then, it all began to go wrong.   
  
Harry put his glass down on the low table so fast that some of the golden liquid slopped over the side. She felt her own glass being plucked from her hand just as quickly, and she was startled, about to ask what on earth was going on, when she felt him move forward and press her against the back of the couch. His lips touched hers, tasting of champagne and fruit, and then his tongue was in her mouth and his hands were on her breasts and she panicked, simply and inexcusably panicked.   
  
She said nothing. She didn’t try to push him away. But Harry moved away from her all by himself, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the expression on his face.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he said.   
  
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she said, forcing a smile to her face and lifting her head. After all, she had known since Harry had said he wanted to see her alone in her rooms that this was going to happen, although perhaps she had not actually admitted it to herself until this moment.   
  
“Don’t you want this?” he asked her.   
  
“I do,” she assured him. “Really, Harry, I do! But-“ She fumbled for words. “I just don’t quite understand. It all seemed to come out of nowhere. I mean, for the past six months, we’ve never really done more than kiss, and then all of a sudden-“ She wondered if he knew about her mother’s letter. _He can’t. Mum all but said in so many words that he didn’t know, that she didn’t want me telling him about it. And he hasn’t mentioned it. I don’t think Harry could keep a secret like that. But then again, how well do I really know Harry?_ The thought made her shiver.  
  
“It always seemed too soon before,” he said. “I didn’t want to rush you. I thought too highly of you, for that. But I-I thought you were ready now. Aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” she said.   
  
He moved closer to her again and took her in his arms, but she still held herself rigid.   
“Harry,” she asked, “what do you think I am?”  
  
“You’re so good, Ginny,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “So pure, and sweet…”  
  
“I’m… I’m not,” she managed to say.   
  
“What do you mean, you’re not?” Harry’s face fell as he raised his head. The two motions combined, Ginny thought, looked very strange. “You mean… with one of your other boyfriends, you’d already…”  
  
“No, no,” she said. “I haven’t… done anything like that.” And she hadn’t _. But still,_ she could not help thinking _, he knows me so little._ _  
_  
He breathed a long sigh, his face nestled against hers. She couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of relief, or not. It might have been simple frustration. They had shifted position so that he was half-kneeling, half-lying on top of her as she lay back on the couch. With every line of his body pressed into hers, she could feel graphic evidence that he certainly did want to do what he was trying to get her to do. In some way, at least, he had to want it; Ginny had spent enough time squirming away from aroused boys to know that. But his eyes were so troubled.   
  
“Do you really want this?” he asked.  
  
“I do,” she insisted. “I always have, with you. You know that, Harry.” It was true. _More true than I’ll ever let him know. And he would probably despise me if he did know…_ She had always wanted to do this with Harry, even when she was too young to know what it was all about, long before Tom Riddle had made her too wise for her years. When she was ten years old, she had not thought in terms of specific acts, of course. But her thoughts of Harry and herself had floated in a romantic dream of kisses and caresses and sliding between the white sheets of a bed wearing a white nightgown and into his arms. On her eleventh birthday, just before starting her first year at Hogwarts, she had rather melodramatically vowed to save herself for him until he claimed her. Well, she certainly had done that in body, although after Tom, her mind had never felt particularly pure again. Before Harry, she had allowed her boyfriends to go so far, and no farther, and at sixteen and a half years old, she had still kept her virginity safe for him. For a fierce, mad, moment, Ginny wished that she hadn’t.  
  
“I’m yours,” she said breathlessly, drowning out the fleeting wish, no longer caring about keeping all the secrets. “I’ve always been yours, even before you wanted me to be. Take what I’ve kept for you, Harry.”  
  
His hands went down to the buttons of her blouse and undid them, then eased the fabric off her shoulders. He freed her breasts from the brassiere and cupped them in his palms. At his touch, the purely physical feeling of male hands on her breasts shot through her, and it was a good one. Ginny moaned, and then bit her lip. Harry’s face was oddly expressionless as he looked down at her naked chest. _What must he think of me? I’ll have to be quieter._ _  
_  
His dark head bent down until she could no longer see his face at all. She felt a breath of air on her nipple, and then the electric sensation as a mouth closed around it and began to suckle.   
  
It was what the snake-man had done in her dream.   
  
Ginny yanked herself back from Harry so fast that she felt his teeth graze her skin. She scrambled away, eyes wide, breath coming fast. He reached for her. Without a shred of conscious thought, Ginny grabbed her wand where it lay on the table and pointed it at him.   
  
Harry looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Then his hands went up over his head, very slowly, in a gesture Ginny remembered from the old Muggle films that her father liked to watch sometimes out in the garage, on the television set he’d rigged up.   
  
They sat next to each other on the couch, not looking at one another. Harry had gone into the bathroom while Ginny put her clothes back on, and she was now fully dressed once more. She had put her heaviest winter indoor robe on over her skirt and blouse. After a long moment of silence, Harry sighed. “I take it this means that you don’t want to make love with me,” he said.   
  
A Muggle expression Ginny had once heard sprang to her lips and nearly made it all the way out. _No shit, Sherlock_! She restrained herself. “No,” was all she said.   
  
“But…” Harry looked down at his hands. “but, why? Can you just tell me why, Gin? Were you afraid?”  
  
“I suppose I was,” she said. It was not exactly the truth, but something dark and mean in her wanted him out, and maybe claiming that he’d frightened her would be the quickest way to accomplish it.   
  
“But I’d be so gentle, Gin,” he said, “so careful. I wouldn’t hurt you, I swear.”  
  
“It’s not that,” she said, and, too late, inwardly groaned at her own words.   
  
“What, then?” he persisted. “Do you still think it’s too soon?”  
  
“Um-yes. Too soon. That’s it.” The little demon in her was getting stronger. Ginny knew that she could keep it quiet for only so long. “Harry, please,” she said, taking his hand and looking at him entreatingly. “No more tonight. Just go. Please.”  
  
“No,” he said, his eyes taking on the look of bullheaded determination that she knew all too well. “I’m going to stay, Ginny, stay and make you understand. Do you think it’s that I don’t respect you?”  
  
“Er-“  
  
“Because that’s not it, not at all. We’re going to get married in the summer, after you turn seventeen, and that proves-“ Too late, he stopped.   
  
Harry’s face was so transparent, thought Ginny. It always had been. But never so much as it this moment. “You haven’t asked me,” she said, slowly. He did not seem able to quite meet her eye. Harry had never been able to lie well.   
  
“You knew what was in my mum’s letter,” Ginny said. “Didn’t you? It said that you didn’t, but you did. At least tell me the truth, Harry. I deserve that.”  
  
He pulled away from her, sagging against her couch. The truth was in every line of his body. “She told me she was going to write it,” he said dully. “I asked her to say that I didn’t know. I thought it would be-easier-“  
  
“You’ve got to be joking.”  
  
“I thought it would be best,” he said earnestly.   
  
“Harry,” she asked him, “what’s going on?”  
  
“I can’t tell you.”  
  
“Can’t, or won’t?”  
  
He took her hand again, and squeezed it. “Ginny, please. Please trust me, believe in me. Please understand when I say that there are things it’s so much better for you not to know.”  
  
Ginny got to her feet and looked at him.   
  
“Harry, you are as thick as a bag of goblins,” she said.   
  
He looked back at her, miserably.   
  
“And it doesn’t matter that I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was ten years old,” she muttered. She hadn’t wanted Harry to know that fact. It seemed strange now that that secret had seemed so important to her once. But she knew she was no longer really speaking to him anyway, but to herself. “It doesn’t matter at all,” she continued. “Because I can’t do this. And I won’t do it.”   
  
The look on his face changed to one of relief. It lasted long enough so that Ginny could be sure of what she saw. She turned on her heel and fled the room.   
  
She could hear him calling after her. “Ginny! Ginny!” he yelled. “Please, come back here, we have to talk-Don’t just run away like this! Ginny!” But she knew all the secret nooks and crannies of the Leaky Cauldron that Harry had never bothered to learn, and she eluded him easily. She watched him running down the corridor, wand out, whipping his head around frantically from side to side as he looked for her. _You silly boy,_ she thought meaninglessly _. I don’t like you._ Then she slipped out a side door into a dark alley. 

  
Too late, she realized too late that she had left her own rooms, and now had nowhere to go.   
  
Or… or did she?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Zorah Neale Hurston is real (she was one of the writers of the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920’s,) and so is her book. Check it out. :)  
  
********************************************  
  
The snow drifted down in lacy clumps. The temperature hovered around the freezing point, and it was the sort of biting chill that seeps into the bones. Ginny tried to wrap her indoor robe more closely around her, and shuddered with the cold. The streets were mostly dark and silent, with closed shops. The pubs and restaurants that were open at this hour were all on the other side of Diagon Alley. Ginny went by Gringotts, walking fast. Its white marble pillars gleamed eerily back at her, reflected by the brilliant moonlight. Then she paused. Directly to her left was the turnoff to Knockturn Alley. She peered at it. The very cobblestones of the street looked darker past that point, gleaming with wetness where the snow had melted into rain. She retreated to the safety of a streetlamp and stood in its orange pool of light.   
  
She saw the dark figure moving down the street before she heard him. His steps were almost noiseless. He was tall and lithe and graceful as a cat—a magical cat, she thought. And his hair flashed silver when he passed her.   
  
“Malfoy,” she said.   
  
Her voice had been so low that she wasn’t sure he had even heard her. But he turned round as quickly as if her speaking his name had plucked at him with iron fingers.

  
“What are you doing here, Weasley?” he asked, sounding startled. He stepped closer to her, under the light. Under the streetlamp, most of his face was hidden in pools of shadow. He did not quite look like himself, and that fact somehow gave Ginny a bit of courage.   
  
“Standing under a streetlamp. What about you?”  
  
“I was in Wiltshire,” he said briefly. “Just got back. I’m going to my rooms.”  
  
Malfoy Manor was there, very near Stonehenge, Ginny knew.  _So he was at home. I wonder why he didn’t stay there, then?_ “Can’t you Apparate?” she asked.   
  
“Of course I can. I’ve been able to do that ever since I was fourteen.”  
  
“But you couldn’t have done, until you were sixteen. I mean—well, it’s illegal.”   
  
He only looked at her in reply. His face was very weary, she saw now, with dark circles under his eyes that were only emphasized by the glare of the streetlamp. “I like to walk, sometimes,” Malfoy finally said. “And you didn’t tell me what you were doing out here.”   
  
Ginny shrugged. She didn’t know what answer to give.   
  
“Aren’t you afraid of the dark?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Maybe you should be.” He laughed, short and sharp. His eyes looked tired, but they were burning even brighter than usual. He was in a strange mood, she thought, but then, so was she.   
  
“You must be cold,” he said.   
  
She nodded. “I went out without a proper cloak.”  
  
They were standing very close by then. Malfoy opened his own thick winter cloak of black wool and wrapped half of it around her. She felt the feverish warmth of his body.   
“ _Calorus,”_ he muttered, and a draft of warm air surrounded them both. Still, he did not unwind his cloak from around her, and she did not step away from him.   
  
He moved into the shadow of a doorway in one of the alleys, and she followed him. “Will you do something for me, Malfoy?” she asked.   
  
“You think I ever do anything for anybody?” he asked, his voice mocking. “Don’t you know how selfish I am? Haven’t all your little friends told you that? Except, of course, when I’m engaged in the disinterested pursuit of pure evil. Then, any desire to save my own skin apparently goes out the window. Not very logical, but it’s what they say.”  
  
“Do you know who Phineas Nigellus is?” Ginny asked.   
  
“Yes, I know. The last headmaster of Hogwarts who came out of Slytherin. And the least popular one the school has ever had. Why do you ask?”  
  
“I heard that he once said… well, I’m not sure what the exact quote was, but it was something like, ‘We Slytherins are brave enough, but we aren't stupid. When given the chance, we save our own necks.’”  
  
“Then he was a wise man.” Draco Malfoy looked down at her. “What do you want from me, Ginny Weasley?”  
  
“I want you to kiss me,” she said.   
  
His eyes went round with surprise. Before he could react further, she herself reached up and pulled his head down to hers. His hair was soft and thick and perfectly smooth, sliding between her fingers like water. He hesitated just a moment, and then she felt his hands moving in her own hair, down to her shoulders, pulling her close to him. And then he kissed her.   
  
And then she knew.   
  
_This is it. This is what kissing can be. This is how bodies can feel. His lips on mine, his tongue searching out my mouth and the taste of him, mint and lemon and sweetness but warmer, sharper, his arms going around the curve of my back, all of him fitting me in that right, perfect way. He would fit me, Draco Malfoy would, and I would fit him._  
  
He kissed the curve of her neck all the way down to her collarbone, just as Harry had done. But not at all as Harry had done. His hands crept up to cup her breasts beneath the robes she wore. Her heart fluttered like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage. _He could set me free._ Ginny did not know what the words meant that had formed in her mind, but she knew that they were true.   
  
And then another thought came to her, slowly.  
  
_I’m so tired of being a virgin._  
  
At that moment, it seemed as if she had been bearing the burden of her closed, intact self, heart guarded, body shielded, for a thousand years. She could not bear that weight another moment. She wanted to lay it down.   
  
“Come back with me,” Malfoy said, speaking very fast, sounding as if the words were being torn from him against his will. “Come to my rooms.”  
  
“I can’t,” she said.   
  
He pulled back from her, visibly collecting himself. “Are you afraid to go to Knockturn Alley at night?” he asked. “Or afraid to be seen with me? Or afraid to be alone in a room with me? Which is it, Weasley; which of the fears is greatest?” His tone was light, but something moved at the back of his eyes, which suddenly looked very dark.   
  
“None of them,” she said. “But, I—not just now, Draco, not just yet.”  
  
It was the first time she had ever called him by his given name.   
  
He wore the mask again on his face, the one that had always hidden who he truly was from anyone like Ginny Weasley, and perhaps from everyone else, as well. But it had slipped a bit. She had got behind it, and he could never use it to fool her again, Ginny thought.   
  
“Do you still have that charm I gave you?” he asked.   
  
She fished in her purse and held it up.   
  
“Good,” Draco said. “Come to me. Come soon, Ginny.” Then he turned from her without another word and headed down Knockturn Alley, the darkness swallowing him up before had gone more than a few paces.   
  
Ginny walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, moving slowly, meeting no-one. Her room was empty when she returned to it. There was no note. Harry might never have been there at all. Perhaps it was all a dream, she thought, getting into bed, knowing that nothing could be that easy.   
  
The next day, she went to the little post office tucked next to Madame Malkin’s Robe Shop and paid for two owls to be sent. One carried a note addressed to Fred and George, telling them that she had a slight case of magical flu. No, they shouldn’t tell Mum; it would only worry her, and they shouldn’t try to visit her, either. It felt contagious. She only needed a day’s rest. The other owl went to the Burrow.   
  
_Hermione,_  
Come and see me at the Leaky Cauldron this afternoon. Room 203. I need you desperately.   
Ginny  
P.S.: Don’t tell anyone.   
  
Ginny sat in the taproom and ate a leisurely lunch, reading a book called Tell My Horse that she’d found on the discount table at Flourish and Blotts yesterday. It was about wizards in Haiti and was by an American witch from the early part of the century, Zora Neale Hurston. The exotic descriptions of loas and zombies and voodoo rituals seemed so far away from the Leaky Cauldron, from Diagon Alley, from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and from the memory of the relieved look on Harry’s face when she’d fled from him the night before. Reading this book, Ginny decided, was exactly what she needed.   
  
As she was finishing her mashed potatoes, Pigwidgeon zoomed in a happy circle around her head. He listed drunkenly to one side because of the weight of the parchment attached to his leg. Ginny unrolled it, patting his feathered head absently. She could already see that the spiky, agitated handwriting wasn’t Ron’s.   
  
Gin,

_  
Ron lent me Pig so I could send this. Hedwig’s been carrying so many messages lately that I thought she needed a bit of a rest. I’m not much good at writing what I feel, so I’ll just tell you. I’m sorry, Ginny, more sorry than I could ever say, if I tried to push you into something you didn’t want. I thought you had at least a bit more experience with that sort of thing, because of—well, you know. Because of Michael and Dean and Seamus and Neville. That didn’t come out right at all. Please don’t think I meant that I thought you hadn’t kept yourself pure. I know your mum raised you right, Gin, as she did all the Weasleys, and you’re a good girl no matter what you think. I reckon the real problem is your never getting over what Tom Riddle did to you in the Chamber. I know he didn’t really hurt you, Gin—your mum’s talked to me a little over the holidays, and she told me the mediwizards who examined you right afterwards said nothing had happened. But he got into your mind, didn’t he? I wish I could reach right in and pull him out, so you could feel good and pure all the way through. As you really are.  
I suppose that’s made you afraid of loving me—physically, I mean. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. There never could be, with me.   
  
_Ginny bit her lip, torn between near-hysterical laughter and a sudden urge to cry. Harry thought she was afraid of sex. He thought that was the real problem! The memory of Draco’s kisses eddied around the back of her mind.  _Oh, Harry, I wish you knew how wrong you were. No, no, I don’t; I can’t wish that. You’re good. Truly good. Maybe you really are too good for me; perhaps you deserve better than what I could give you, but still… still..._ She returned to reading the letter.   
  
_I’m sorry that I can’t explain more about what your mum wrote in her letter, Ginny. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more about what’s happening, because it’s something big. Please believe me when I say that I wish I could. Please believe me when I say that it’s for your own good that you don’t—  
_  
She crumpled the parchment in her hand. Then she methodically tore it into little strips and hid it beneath the remnant of her mashed potatoes. One word was still visible, little streams of ink running off it into the butter.   
  
_Sorry…_    
  
She pushed her chair back from the table.   
  
Hermione appeared a few hours later, all breathlessness and bustle, cheeks bright red from the cold, bushy hair escaping a woolen balaclava, eyes sharp as an inquisitive squirrel’s. They took tea down in the dining room, and Ginny curved her hands around her steaming cup, putting off the moment when she’d have to meet Hermione’s eyes. For all that she’d begged the other girl to come here, she wasn’t exactly sure what she even wanted to ask her.   
  
Hermione finally spoke first, her words fairly bursting with impatience. “Ginny, I have to be back by four.”  
  
“Mm-hm.” Ginny sipped tea.   
  
“Ron’ll get suspicious otherwise. We’ve been spending so much time studying for NEWTS—although I keep trying to tell him that it wouldn’t be necessary to do it over the winter hols if he’d been willing to do it before, but that’s neither here nor there, now. But if he knew I was with you, he would’ve insisted on coming as well. Why didn’t you want Ron to come along?”  
  
“Girl things,” Ginny mumbled into her tea cup.  
  
“Oh. I see…” Hermione bit her lip. “Something happened with Harry, didn’t it?”  
  
Ginny sighed, and decided to take the unicorn by its horn. “Yes. It did. But I can’t tell you what. I really can’t, Hermione.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” her friend said quietly. “Let me guess. He finally decided that he was ready to sleep with you. And you tried to go along with it, but at the last moment, you panicked and said no.” She grinned. “Close your mouth, Ginny.”  
  
“I thought you weren’t any good at Divination!” Ginny looked at Hermione suspiciously. “You haven’t been talking to Harry, have you?”  
  
“No, I haven’t, and no, I’m decidedly not,” said Hermione. “All it took to figure that one out was rather basic common sense. And… knowing you, and him, which I do.”  
  
Ginny sighed, and rested her chin in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”  
  
“Well, not to Ron, or Fred. But subtlety isn’t their strong point.”  
  
“No, it’s not.”  
  
“So are you going to tell me what this is all about?”   
  
Ginny played with the crumbs of a scone on her plate. “Hermione, you’re my friend, right?”  
  
“Ginny! What a thing to—“  
  
“I mean, it’s not just because I’m Ron’s little sister. And that I’m dating Harry now. Or that I was.”  
  
“Is it really that bad?” Hermione asked.   
  
“I don’t know yet. But listen, Hermione, please. You like me for me, right? At least a little bit?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Hermione said. “Ginny, I can’t believe you’d ask such a question. You’re…” She cleared her throat. “You’re my only girlfriend at Hogwarts, didn't you know? I think you’re the only one I’ve ever had.”  
  
“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to say to you. I need your advice about something, and I need you to help me figure out something. I need it desperately, just like I said. But—“ She held up a hand. “There’s just one catch. We can only talk about that one thing. Nothing else.”  
  
Ginny could almost see all the questions trying to burst out of Hermione’s mouth. But she nodded, after a brief pause. “All right,” she said. “But—“  
  
“I mean it. I’ll tell you what it is, and then you can’t ask anything more.”  
  
“But—“   
  
“If you don’t know anything,” Ginny said firmly, “then you won’t have to lie to Ron.”  
  
“You have a point.”  
  
Ginny sat back in her chair. “Do you remember a book we got out of the Restricted Section this autumn? A very old, very battered book with a green cover? It was about Binding Spells. You do remember that book, right?”  
  
“Of course I do,” said Hermione almost impatiently, as if she couldn’t believe that Ginny was questioning her perfect photographic memory of every book she’d ever seen in her life. “It was a bit confusing. Sixteenth century, I think, written in black-letter script. Very hard to read. And the spells weren’t quite clear. Whole sections of it were missing, too.”  
  
“But you do remember what it said about Binding spells.”  
  
Hermione’s brow knit together, and for a second Ginny was afraid that she had overtaxed even her friend’s powers of recall. “It dealt with the ones that bind two people, rather than a family, or a larger group,” she said, seeming to recall each word with an effort. “Yes, I remember now. It only concerned the most powerful sort, those that were bound with the most ancient kind of magic. The kinds that were needed to cement extremely difficult and far-reaching spells."  
  
“But was there a way to break that kind of Binding spell?” Ginny asked urgently, leaning forward. “Did it say anything about that?”  
  
“Oh. Er, yes, it did. It wasn’t quite clear, of course…”  
  
“Please just tell me.”  
  
“As far as I could tell, it seemed to say that if that kind of Binding spell was to be broken, it had to be done before it was completely cemented. And the .. um…the only way to do it would be to…” She looked down at her hands.   
  
“Spit it out, Hermione.”   
  
“Well, I can’t. I have to explain it fully.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because—well, it’s a bit like electricity. You know how that works, right?”  
  
“I’ve got a fair idea, I suppose. Remember my dad’s obsession with electric plugs?”  
  
“In order for a Muggle appliance to operate,” said Hermione, going into her best pedantic mode, “it has to be connected to a source of electric power. Like connecting a plug to an outlet in a wall. If that doesn’t happen, the potential power won’t be released.”  
  
“I suppose I see what you mean,” said Ginny, her mind turning over recent events.   
  
“This sort of Binding spell is like all powerful spells between two people, really. Its strength—its very existence—depends on the consent and cooperation of both, and on their embracing the potential power. But the way this one works in particular… Ginny…” Hermione hesitated. “Have you ever done anything with any of your boyfriends?”  
  
“I used to do all sorts of things,” Ginny said dryly. “But I think you’re only referring to one thing.”   
  
“Well… yes. What about Michael Corner?”  
  
“I was only fourteen years old! What sort of slut do you think I am?”  
  
“I take it that’s a no. Dean Thomas?”  
  
“A bit of snogging, that was all.”  
  
“Seamus Finnegan?”  
  
“He certainly wanted to,” sighed Ginny. “He didn’t much want to take no for an answer, either. And don’t tell Ron that, or he’ll hunt Seamus down and hex him into a slug and step on him. But I still told him no, and that was that. That’s the real reason why we broke up, you know.”  
  
“Well, what about Neville?”  
  
Ginny smirked. “Would you sleep with Neville Longbottom?”  
  
Hermione’s lips twitched. “Good point. But Ginny, you do realize what that means, don’t you? With this sort of spell, virginity carries the power.”  
  
“Oh.” _So that’s why Harry was upset when he thought I wasn’t a virgin,_ she thought. _It wasn’t because he wanted to be my first! Oh, maybe that isn’t entirely fair. But that was part of the reason, and any part at all is too much._ __  
  
“So if one of the people involved deliberately turned away from that link,” Hermione continued, “and, er, offered herself physically to someone else instead…to someone who was, say, the exact opposite in temperament to the person she’d been bound to…” Delicately, she left the sentence unfinished.  
  
“She would break the spell,” said Ginny.   
  
“I don’t like that look in your eye,” said Hermione, nervously. “What are you planning?”  
  
Ginny put her hand over the other girl’s. “You said you wouldn’t ask, remember?”  
  
That sort of admonition from Harry or Ron had never shut Hermione up before, as far as Ginny ever knew. But this time, she only nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, Ginny, please,” was all she said.   
  
“You know I won’t. Pour me some more tea, would you?”   
  
As Hermione busied herself with the teapot, and then went to order more, Ginny quickly gulped her full cup of cold tea, hiding her burning face. She could not have put a name to how she felt now. The crushing guilt was still there, weighing down on her mind, and the little voice of reason that kept screeching how mad she was to even consider any of the ideas running through her head. She looked down into the dregs of her cold tea, and felt the stirring of her own will, whispering that it was time to make strong, cruel moves towards freeing herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter starts to earn the Explicit rating for the fic, although it doesn't get as explicit as it will after this... so just a head's up.

  
  
*************************************************  
  
  
Ginny went up to her room, threw herself across the bed, and slept dreamlessly for an hour. Then she dressed herself with great care, beginning with the jade green bra and knickers set, which she had had laundered. She tucked her hair under a hood so that none of it showed, and wrapped a woolen scarf around her face so that only the tip of her nose peeked out. The sun had already set, and the air was cold and blue as she hurried down Diagon Alley. When she reached the corner where Gringotts was, she hesitated, and glanced around her. She couldn’t see anyone she knew. But she pulled her hood up even more firmly around her face before she started down Knockturn Alley.   
  
It didn’t really look so very different from the rest of Diagon Alley. She’d expected something darker and more sinister from Harry’s descriptions of the one time he’d been there. The alleyway was narrower, perhaps, and a bit more dingy, but candles shone brightly from many of the windows of the shops. She looked closer _. Ugh._ One shop window was entirely filled with candles shaped like human hands. Maybe they _were_ human hands. Ginny decided that she didn’t want to know.   
  
She passed Borgin and Burkes. Harry had told her about the time he’d spied on Draco and his father there at the start of his second year, omitting no lurid detail. She’d thought even at the time, though, that the story sounded extraordinarily sad. Even having heard about it only from Harry’s point of view, Lucius Malfoy had sounded awful. Ginny tried to imagine Arthur Weasley coldly telling a shopkeeper in front of her that he hoped his daughter would amount to more than a common thief, but that might be all she was ever fit for, and she shuddered.   
  
She paused in front of an elegant two-story building with ornately carved teak double doors. This must be it. There was no sign on the front and no name-plate on the doors, but it was the only place that could have fit the description Draco gave. She looked for the side door he’d mentioned, and found it under a little green awning. There was a tiny brass plate just above the doorknob. She read the copperplate engraving on it.  _J'arrive, et je rêve._ The words gave her an odd feeling, although she didn’t know what they meant. She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and gave it three light raps of her fingers.  
  
The door swung open a little way to reveal a tall, cadaverously thin, ebony-coloured man in a black cloak, standing in such a way as to bar the entrance. Ginny felt herself shrink under his gaze, and she fought a strong urge to turn tail and run. “Malfoy sent me,” she said, and fumbled for the little silver serpent, holding it up.   
  
The man nodded and opened the door all the way, beckoning for her to follow him in. Ginny gulped, gathered together every last bit of her courage, and walked into the little foyer.   
  
The doorman had melted away as soon as she entered the club, and Ginny glanced around the small, dark room, feeling very much at loose ends. She’d thought that the Three Broomsticks tended to be dark, but it was nothing like this. She could barely see the floor under her feet. A candle at each table cast a little pool of light around itself, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see that a vast crystal chandelier hung above a long mahogany bar at the front, each prism winking ever so faintly at her. Clouds of smoke eddied through the bits of light. A dark-skinned woman in a green silk robe swayed in a tiny spotlight next to the bar, singing throatily, and a little piano next to her played quiet accompaniment all by itself. The odd thing was that Ginny could have sworn the woman had been singing in some soft, unidentifiable language. But as soon as Ginny tried to actually hear the words, the singer switched to English with a lilting accent, right in the middle of a phrase.   
_  
Stars shining bright above you,  
Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you",  
Birds singing in the sycamore tree,  
Dream a little dream of me…  
  
_  
Still, the music calmed Ginny a little. She let her eyes seek out the figures that were sitting at each dark table with its little pool of light. And finally she saw the shimmer of silvery hair. Draco. He sat at a small round table halfway across the room, but he did not sit alone. There was another, much smaller figure next to him, and Ginny knew without needing to see more clearly that it was Pansy. She stole around the edge of the room, slipping through the deepest pools of shadow, and stopped in a little foyer that had to lead to the bathrooms. She could hear and see everything at that table, now.   
  
“I don’t like this liqueur, Draco,” Pansy was saying. “I don’t know why you like it. It’s too strong.”  
  
“I don’t want your opinion,” he said.   
  
“And I don’t like coming here all the time. It’s so dark, and we never see anybody we know, and those black waiters are so creepy.”  
  
“I don’t care what you think.”  
  
Ginny was close enough to see Pansy’s lips tightening at the corners. There was clearly something boiling under the surface of the Slytherin girl, something that was just about to break. She rearranged her features into a pleasant expression and looked up at Draco.   
  
“I’m tired. And it’s time. I want to go upstairs now, I don’t want to sit down here anymore.”  
  
“Well, I don’t want to,” said Draco.   
  
“Don’t you?” She put her little hand over his, caressing it. He moved his own hand away. Ginny had the sudden feeling that she was witnessing the final act of a very long play. Without having seen the rest, there was a great deal that she didn’t know about the plot. But she was suddenly sure what the final scene would be.   
  
“No,” said Draco. “I don’t. Because I don’t want you, Pansy. I’ve never wanted you.”  
  
“You certainly shagged me enough times,” Pansy said spitefully, the pretty mask of her face straining at its seams.   
  
“I haven’t touched you for months and you know it.”  
  
“Oh, I know it all right.” Pansy pushed back her chair and leaned forward. “What do you want from me, Draco? You know that I’m just as trapped in this thing as you are.”  
  
“You really want to know?” His eyes appraised her coldly. “I want you to get out of here.”  
  
“Are you expecting someone else? Xanthia Morgan or Sadina von Tussel, maybe? One of those girls who comes up to your rooms, or meets you in a back alley on the sly?”   
  
Pansy’s eyes glittered in the orange light from the wall sconces. Ginny realized that she herself had already done one of the things the other girl had mentioned, and was about to do the second. She shrank further back into the foyer.   
  
“None of your bloody business if I am,” said Draco.   
  
“You can do that sort of thing any other night you want, Draco. But not tonight. We both know that.”  
  
“I know everything I need to know,” he said flatly. “Get out.”   
  
“If I leave now, I’m never coming back to you.”  
  
“I don’t dare to hope that I could be so lucky.”  
  
“You know what that’ll mean, don’t you? To me, but most of all to yourself.”  
  
“I know.”   
  
Pansy rose. “If this is how you want it, Draco,” she said. She bent down and whispered something into his ear. His expression did not change.   
  
“I’ll risk it,” said Draco, his voice light, although Ginny wondered if it shook just the tiniest bit. Maybe that was only her imagination.   
  
Ginny waited at least five minutes after Pansy had gone, just in case she thought of more undoubtedly nasty things to say and came back. Then she walked up to the table. She’d thought he would turn as soon as he heard her footsteps behind him, but maybe he thought they were Pansy’s.   
  
“Hello,” she said.   
  
She had expected him to look unconcerned when she showed up. She had been counting on his coolness to help her keep her own self together. But when he turned and saw her behind him, he almost jumped out of his seat. His face looked thin and drawn, and full of shadows. He knocked over his small liqueur glass, and a yellowish-green liquid spilled out onto the table, like dragon’s blood.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to startle you—“  
  
“It’s all right,” he said. A silent woman with a few strands of red hair peeping out of her bright headwrap appeared. Her face was turned downwards, so that Ginny could not see her features clearly, although she thought that the woman shot her a brief, searching glance. She flicked her hand at the spill. It disappeared, and then so did she. Ginny blinked. Had she really disappeared, or just slipped away more noiselessly than any house-elf?  _What a strange, strange place._  
  
He gestured towards a chair. It was the one Pansy had sat in. Ginny took another.  
  
“I thought you’d come. I wasn’t sure. But I thought so. Drink with me now,” said Draco. He had regained his composure and spoke like a young man used to being obeyed, but Ginny found that she did not mind that tonight. She did not want to have to think for herself too much, tonight. A second little glass appeared filled with the same liqueur that Draco had been drinking. She poured it down her throat quickly, and then coughed.   
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Chartreuse.”  
  
“Oh…” Ginny looked down into her glass, and tried again. She sipped more slowly this time, letting the mingled flavours of citrus, anise, mint, rosemary and lavender roll across her tongue.   
  
“Have you had this before?” Draco asked.   
  
“No. I like it, though.”  
  
“So do I. It was invented by wizarding monks in France, and supposedly they’re the only ones who know the recipe. Some people say that it has mysterious powers, but I think that’s a load of rubbish.”  
  
“Really?”   
  
“Well, Chartreuse does bring vivid dreams. That’s true enough,” Draco said, and then lapsed into silence.  
  
Minutes passed while the warmth seeped into her chilled bones, and she said nothing. She finally looked up. It seemed as if some of the tables had rearranged themselves while she was absorbed in her drink, and the lighting looked all different. The woman next to the bar kept singing.   
_  
Just say "goodnight" and kiss me,  
Oh, hold me tight and tell me you miss me;  
While I’m alone and blue as can be,  
Dream a little dream of me…  
_  
“This is a strange place,” Ginny said.   
  
“It is,” said Draco. “Nothing ever seems quite real here, does it?”  
  
“Maybe that’s what seems so strange.”  
  
He smiled at the table, not quite looking at her. “Do you ever wonder what’s real and what isn’t, Ginny Weasley?”  
  
“Sometimes,” she said. Quite deliberately, she slid her hand across the table and placed it over his. He felt feverishly warm. “But you’re real, aren’t you?” she asked.   
  
“I think so,” he said, finally looking up. “I think you are as well.”  
  
What a strange conversation, thought Ginny. “Nobody I know would come here, would they?” she asked.   
  
“They couldn’t get in,” he said.   
  
She nodded. “Good. I don’t want to be found.”  
  
His grey eyes glittered in the flickering light of the candle. “What do you want, Ginny?”  
  
She put her glass down. “I want to go upstairs with you, Draco.”   
  
As they left the table, Ginny saw out of the corner of her eye that the woman by the bar was still singing, but had turned her head to watch her pass by with Draco.   
_  
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you,  
But in your dreams whatever they be,  
Dream a little dream of me.  
_  
He brought her up a dimly lit flight of stairs and down a richly carpeted hall, the walls paneled with teak and ebony. He stopped in front of a door. There were no numbers on its outside, but perhaps that sort of thing wasn’t needed here. If you were considered special enough to stay up here, Ginny thought, you knew where you were supposed to be. Her thoughts felt more and more random, like sparks struck off a wand during a badly composed spell. If she didn’t grab onto something soon to anchor herself, she didn’t know what would happen. Draco Malfoy still wasn’t opening the door. His hand was on the doorknob, but he did not turn it. Why won’t he go in?   
  
“Draco,” she said.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You bring girls up here, don’t you?”  
  
He didn’t answer her.   
  
“I already know you do. I’ve seen you with a lot of different girls in the past year. I don’t mind. I’m not asking you because I mind.”  
  
“Not here,” Draco said. “I’ve never brought anyone else here. Pansy’s never even been in these rooms.”  
  
“Well, other places, then. You know what I mean. You’ve shagged a lot of girls, haven’t you?”  
  
He smiled faintly, his face looking strangely unguarded. “Ginny, Ginny. The questions you ask. A nice girl wouldn’t ask a question like that. But then you’re not so nice as everyone thinks, are you?”  
  
“No,” Ginny said. “But it is true, isn’t it? About you, I mean. I want to hear you say it.”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”   
  
She stepped very close to him, until she could feel the warmth of his body radiating outwards, touching the skin of her hands and face. “Open the door, Draco,” she said.   
  
He finally did. A little witchlight went on as he stepped inside. Ginny still hung back at the threshold of the door. She saw a cozy sitting room with a little couch in front of a fire, low wooden tables, flocked wallpaper in a soothing brown colour, and rich window hangings that shut out the cold night. Draco stood just inside the room, looking back at her. She spoke to him very clearly and slowly, each word so precise that there could be no mistake as to her meaning.   
  
“I want you to do to me what you do to those girls.”  
  
The words had hardly left Ginny’s mouth before Draco yanked her into the room by her arm and slammed the door. Then the breath was knocked out of her lungs. She gave a reflexive gasp and breathed in mint and anise, the sweet taste of lavender, the bitter flavour of rue, and more, a thousand subtleties that could belong only to the mouth of Draco Malfoy. He had shoved her up against the closed door, and his lips and tongue and teeth were everywhere at once, devouring her lips, ravaging her collarbone, nipping at her neck like a vampire too long starved for blood. And all the while he pressed her up against the door with all his strength, and she couldn’t have moved a muscle if she’d wanted to. Yet even in this frenzy of hand and mouth and body, of ragged cries and harsh gasps and more than a few struggles for air when Ginny remembered that she’d forgotten to breathe, he always stopped short of causing her pain. Draco wasn’t hurting her, Ginny realized. But he was _consuming_ her.   
  
Her blouse was slipping off her shoulders now with a ripping sound. Buttons clattered to the floor. Now his mouth was on her breasts, moving from nipple to nipple, and at that sensation Ginny shrieked, honestly shrieked in a sort of terrified pleasure. The sound ended in a guttural moan. But Draco didn’t seem to mind. He was pulling her hips forward and yanking her trousers down her thighs… now her knickers… the cooler air of the room struck her bare flesh and his hands kept moving down and oh God, oh God, he was touching her there, where no hand but her own had ever been. Every one of her nerve endings was screaming with sensations she had never imagined. Ginny’s mind grappled frantically with the vast sensory overload, but it was too much, too hard, too fast. She couldn’t begin to catalogue each separate thing that was happening to her, much less respond to it.  
  
Somehow his shirt and sweater were on the floor and his trousers were around his ankles and he was pressing against her; there was only the thin layer of his silk boxers separating them, and she moaned softly as the full weight of her ignorance flooded through her. Too late, she saw that she had needed this to be slow and gentle, and instead it was coming at her as relentlessly as a force of nature. An experienced girl would have been able to cope with the onslaught that was Draco Malfoy, but Ginny was as overwhelmed as a sparrow in a hurricane.   
  
The last scrap of green silk slithered down his calves and puddled on the floor. Her legs were being shoved apart, and he was lifting her against the door. She had to say something. She had to stop him. But she couldn’t seem to even draw breath to speak. Her hands came up and pushed faintly at his bare chest.   
  
He blinked, his eyes enormous and vague. “Wh—what?” he asked.  
  
“Stop,” she whispered. “Don’t. No!”  
  
The words clearly penetrated Draco’s mind a little too late. He was driven by a more primal force than anything words could communicate to him now. Still, her hands were braced against his chest with increasing strength, and the words that she had said began to seep into his mind and to make a little sense. He tried to pull himself back, to stop the seemingly unstoppable forward motion of his own body, and so his first thrust into her was not as hard and swift and complete as it otherwise would have been. He could feel himself meeting resistance, and then she yelped and stiffened, her whole body contracting. He stumbled back. She slipped to the floor, crying. The tears had sprung to her eyes as suddenly as if he’d slapped her. Draco stared at her in astonishment.   
  
“What the hell?” he managed to say.   
  
Ginny cried harder. He knelt next to her, turning her face up to his with a hand on her chin. She tried to pull away, but he had her fast. 

  
“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said.   
  
“Tell me what?”  
  
“You know perfectly well what.” She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.   
  
“No, I don’t know! Fuck, Ginny, what just happened?”  
  
She gritted her teeth. Apparently, he really was going to make her spit out all the gory facts. “I’m a virgin, Malfoy. Or I  _was._  Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”  
  
She’d never actually seen anybody’s mouth drop open before. “A—a  _virgin?_  I didn’t know. I didn’t have the slightest-- Are you sure?”  
  
“You think I’d lie about that? To you?”  
  
His face hardened. “How the hell should I know? It’s not as if I’ve ever come across one of them before. Not in bed, anyway.”  
  
“We’re not exactly in bed, are we?” Ginny pointed out with a sort of prim bitterness.   
  
“Wait. Wait a second. What about all those boyfriends you’ve had? What about the other day, when you said you weren’t pure, and weren’t innocent?”  
  
“I didn’t mean this. There are other kinds of purity, and I’ve lost them all long ago. This was about the only sort I had left.” Ginny felt around on the floor for her knickers and put them on, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She felt suddenly exhausted. She didn’t know if she could ever get up off the floor again.   
  
Draco looked at her very hard. “But why?” he asked. “Why me?” He began to pace, shooting sharp looks down at her from time to time.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” Gods, but what a disaster this had been! There was only one good thing about it. She wasn’t a virgin anymore, so the Binding spell was broken, and she wouldn’t have to go through with marrying Harry. Or at least Ginny thought she’d lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy. _Does this actually count as sex?_ she wondered. She’d felt a slight stab of pain, and she’d certainly heard from all the whispered conversations girls held after hours in the Gryffindor room that there was supposed to be pain. But there hadn’t been any real pleasure, either. Not for her, anyway; it had all been too overwhelming for that. Was that necessary, though? Ginny thought it likely wasn’t.   
  
So they were done, she and Draco; no matter how abortive the experience had been, it was over now. She tried to get up. He pushed her down and sat next to her.   
  
“You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers,” he said.   
  
“Why do you need answers?” Ginny pulled on her trousers. “You got what you wanted.”  
  
Draco looked very much as if he might explode. “Great Merlin, you idiot, I didn’t get anything, and neither did you! Are you really too thick to realize that?”  
  
Knowing what he meant, she blushed scarlet.  _Of course Malfoy didn’t come. I suppose I am a bit thick to not realize that! But, then… oh dear…_  
  
“Does that mean that this doesn’t count?” she blurted.   
  
Draco laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I haven’t done anything to you, Weasley; you’re still as intact as the day you were born.”  
  
“But—“ she stuttered. “But, it hurt—you hurt me, a little anyway, and I’d always heard that—“  
  
“If you knew anything about sex, you’d know that that wasn’t it. No. You can still ride a unicorn into your white wedding with Potter, followed by choirs of poncy elves carrying loads of nargle-infested orange blossoms—“  
  
“Oh, no,” breathed Ginny. She scrubbed at her streaming eyes, then glared up at him. “Damn you, Draco Malfoy! You were supposed to deflower me, and you didn’t!”  
  
He scanned her face silently. “Flattering as I find your sudden desire for me, Weasley,” he said in a low, dangerous drawl, “something is making it very hard for me to believe that you decided to throw your virginity away on me just because you were overcome by passion.”  
  
“But—“ She swallowed hard _. I did feel something for you, Draco,_ she nearly said. _When you kissed me in the alleyway last night. I felt something I’ve never felt for anyone before._ She did not say a word.   
  
“Suppose you tell me what this is really all about,” he said.   
  
She sighed. She was too tired to lie to him anymore, as she now realized that she had been doing all along. _I used him,_ she thought. _Or I tried to, anyway. And it didn’t even work._ “There’s some sort of Binding spell that was put on Harry and me,” she said dully. “But it wasn’t finished. That sort can’t be, until the two people involved finish it themselves, in the old way, with their bodies. I tried to, with Harry. But I couldn’t. He’s good and sweet and dear, and a thousand other good things I’m not, and I ran away from him when he tried to make love to me, and I haven’t talked to him since. Hermione figured out that I could break the spell by sleeping with somebody else.”  
  
Draco leaned his head back against the door as if the weight was just too heavy to support. “And  _you_  actually came to _me_.” There was something strange about the way he phrased that sentence, Ginny thought.   
  
“I came to you. And you see how well that worked out,” she said.   
  
“So you came here to use me, did you?” he asked, smiling as if at some private amusement.  
  
He saw too much, Ginny thought uncomfortably. “Don’t behave as if you weren’t trying to use me,” she snapped.   
  
He looked at her strangely and then shook his head. “But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you run through everyone else you could think of first?”  
  
“That’s obviously the sort of idea you’ve already taken to heart,” she said tartly.   
  
“What do you think you know about me, Weasley?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowing. “Or about why I do the things I do?”  
  
“Nothing.” She got up. “I know that I’ve been a fool, and that’s enough.”  
  
He rose to his feet as well. “But then, I suppose you’re right. About running through every girl I could think of, I mean; you’ll have to decide for yourself what sort of fool you’ve been to come to me.”  
  
“And you thought you’d add me to your list of conquests,” said Ginny.   
  
“If you could hear how stupid you sound, taking that injured tone with me,” sneered Draco. “Who was it that threw themselves at me before we’d even gotten in the doorway, and begged me to do to her what I do to all the other girls—“  
  
Ginny blushed fiery red. “Well, I’m sorry, Malfoy,” she said formally. “What I did was wrong.”  
  
“I’m quite sure you think so now,” he said, in his most arrogant tones. “But if I’d had you properly, you’d be begging me for more, Weasley. Just like the rest of them.”  
  
She winced, deciding not to rise to the bait. “I don’t mean that. I mean the way I tried to use you. I am sorry for that.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “Even though it’s me?” His voice was quieter.   
  
“Even though it’s you,” Ginny agreed, reaching for the doorknob. She felt something pulling on her sleeve, and looked down to see his hand.   
  
“What is it, Malfoy?” she asked.   
  
He didn’t speak. His eyes looked at her as if he could say none of the things he wanted to say with words. For the briefest instant, she might almost have imagined that they were pleading with her silently, as he could not do in speech. That is, she might have done if those bright grey eyes had belonged to anyone except Draco Malfoy.   
  
“You’ve already succeeded in humiliating me, if that was what you wanted to do,” she said. She wasn’t being fair at all, Ginny knew, but at that moment she didn’t care. “Isn’t that enough? What more do you want, Malfoy?”   
  
Still he was silent, but it was the sort of silence with frenzied words behind it, beating at a locked door like birds with broken wings.   
  
_Please…_


	7. Chapter 7

*********************************************************************  
  
December 22nd, 1997  
Diagon Alley  
Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.   
  
“Come to the back with me,” said Ginny. Her eyes were feverishly bright, and spots of colour burned in her cheeks. George laid down his ledger book and followed her without a word. All of her brothers had learned that it was best not to oppose Ginny in even the slightest things when she was in this sort of mood. The sound of the Muggle radio that Fred had turned on before he left drifted to them as they walked into a back room.   
  
_Sweet dreams are made of these,  
Who am I to disagree,   
Travel the world and the seven seas,   
Everybody’s looking for something…   
_  
“Fred’ll be gone for another hour at Gringotts, won’t he?” she asked.   
  
“Y—yeeees,” said George cautiously. “You don’t look like you’re over that touch of flu you had, Ginny.”  
  
She turned to face him once they were out of view of the windows. “I didn’t have flu,” she said.   
  
“Then why—“  
  
“Don’t ask. Please, George. I mean it. Don’t.”  
  
“All right,” he said.   
  
She had known he would agree not to press her further, which none of her other brothers would likely have done, except perhaps for Percy. “I want you to do something for me,” she said, without preamble. “It’s something only you can do, and it’s dreadfully important.”  
  
“I’ll help if I can of course, but—“  
  
“If you don’t do this I’ll have to-- to disappear! I mean it. I’ll run away from home. I’ll—“  
  
George held up a hand. “I don’t know if I like the sound of this, Ginny. Why don’t we wait until Fred gets back, and then we can all discuss—“  
  
“Don’t you dare tell Fred!” Ginny exclaimed. “You can’t tell him anything. Or Ron, or Mum, or—well, or anyone.”  
  
“What do you want?” sighed George.   
  
“I want you to put the Fidelius charm on me, and I want you to be my Secret-Keeper.”  
  
George’s eyebrows shot up to the roots of his brick-coloured hair. “And  _I_ thought that your plan to keep a pet dragon in your room when you were eight years old was a bad idea.”  
  
“It’s the only way.”  
  
“To do what?”  
  
“To—to hide from somebody. Well, from two people.”  
  
“But a Fidelius charm’s a serious thing, Gin. I don’t think you can possibly understand just how serious or you wouldn’t ask me for it like that, like you were asking for a chocolate bar or something. I can’t just—“  
  
“Please!” burst out Ginny.   
  
George put a hand on her shoulder. It was large and warm and calmed her a little. “We’ve been working on a new product for the shop,” he said quietly. “It’s a sort of temporary Fidelius charm. It is in the form of a chocolate bar, actually, and both the Secret-Keeper and the person who wants to be hidden have to take a bite from it.”  
  
“Oh.” Ginny thought for a moment. It would probably work much better than a real Fidelius charm. She couldn’t very well hide forever. “That would be wonderful, George.”  
  
“Well, don’t thank me too fast. There’s a bit of a catch to it,” George said. “Once the whole bar is eaten by the two people involved, the spell’s ended. And I should warn you that I’m going to finish it the day after tomorrow, because I want to go home for Christmas. So whatever your problem is, you’ve got to be able to work it out by Christmas Eve.”  
  
“I agree,” said Ginny.   
  
George hunted around on a shelf and took out a chocolate bar, peeling back the silver foil. Ginny reached for it.   
  
“Wait,” he said. “You have to tell me who you want to be hidden from, first.”  
  
Ginny squirmed. Still, there was really no way around this part of it. “Harry,” she said. George did not react. “Aren’t you surprised?” she asked.   
  
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”  
  
She smiled slightly. “I can just imagine what Fred would say if he knew.”  
  
“Well, then, we won’t tell him, will we?” George grinned. “I’ll try to get him to lay off you about Harry as well.”  
  
“He just doesn’t understand,” said Ginny. “But you do, don’t you?”  
  
“A bit,” said George. “Understand, I know that Fred’s clever, Gin. Much cleverer than I am. He’s the one who comes up with all the ideas for the new products, you know? But I’m the one who got the lease for the shop, and kept the books, and ordered the supplies, and dealt with most of the tradeswizards. He’s like lightning. Everywhere at once, flashing so brightly that even I can’t look at him directly all the time. But it’s like he’s so bright himself that often he just doesn’t see.”  
  
Ginny wondered how both the twins might react when it became clear that she wasn’t going to marry Harry, even though that was what her mum wanted and was planning. Well, I’ll just have to think about that later. Not now.   
  
“Who’s the other person?” asked George.   
  
“Ummm… actuallyit’sDracoMalfoy.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Malfoy,” repeated Ginny. “Draco Malfoy.”  
  
George’s face darkened. “I’ve seen him talking to you, Gin.”  
  
“I didn’t think anybody knew—“  
  
“What did I just say? I’m the one who sees. I was thinking of asking you what you were doing even passing the time of day with that git. What’s happened? Did he do something to you? You’d better tell me, Ginny!”  
  
George was being extraordinarily restrained, Ginny thought. Fred or Ron would have charged into the streets with their wands out already. “Nothing happened,” she said firmly.   
  
“But—“  
  
“Absolutely nothing. And you can’t ask any more. I mean it, George.”  
  
“All right,” he said resignedly, taking a bite of the chocolate bar. “Let’s do this, then.” He handed it to Ginny. It was unusually good chocolate, very bittersweet and dark-tasting, just the way she liked it. “Not too much,” he cautioned her. “One more bite… all right, that’s perfect.” He rewrapped it and put it on a shelf.   
  
“For the next two and a half days, then,” said George, “you’re protected. But that’s it. So you’d better make up your mind, Gin.”  
  
“I will,” she assured him. She wished that she felt half so sure as she sounded.   
  
***  
Ginny busily ran a feather duster over the merchandise at the very back of the shop, on the shelves set into the wall. A hand appeared, floating in the air next to her head. It was large and strong and lanky, and the knuckles were roughened from playing Quidditch. It tapped her on the shoulder. She ignored it.   
  
A second hand popped up next to the first. It made itself into a puppet-and-mouth shape. “Why hello there, Mr. Right Hand,” it said in a squeaky voice. “How are you today?”  
  
“I’m all right, I reckon,” the other hand sighed dramatically. “But I’m feeling soooo lonely, Mr. Left Hand!”  
  
“That’s terribly sad,” said Right Hand. “But why?”  
  
“Because Ginny won’t talk to me,” said Left Hand, slumping in a dispirited way against a shelf. Ginny rolled her eyes and kept dusting.   
  
“But where’s Ginny, Mr. Left Hand?” asked Right Hand.  
  
“You don’t suppose she’s off somewhere by herself?” asked Left Hand.   
  
“You don’t suppose she’s being… unhappy?” asked Right Hand.   
  
“We’ll have to cheer her up!”  
  
“We’ll sing a happy song!”  
  
The two hands propped themselves on a shelf and began to dance, singing in falsetto.   
  
“The wipers of the Knight bus go swish, swish, swish—“  
  
The fingers moved back and forth.   
  
“Swish, swish, swish—“  
  
One hand grabbed Ginny’s ponytail and began flopping it about.   
  
“Swish, swish, swish!”  
  
“Stop it,” said Ginny between clenched teeth.   
  
“There’s Ginny!” chorused the hands. “Yay! She’s the best little sister in the whole wide world!” They began to applaud.   
  
“Oh, pull yourself together, Fred!” said Ginny.   
  
The hands winked out into thin air. A few seconds later, Fred’s head popped up from the side of the door. “Feeling better, Gin?” he asked.   
  
Ginny dusted more energetically and did not reply.   
  
“Oh, Gin! Come on, Gin. Talk to me, Gin. I’ll quit bugging you if you talk to me. I will. I’ll shut up if you talk to me. When someone wants me to shut up, I always shut up. I’m the best hand at shutting up that you ever—“  
  
“Is that head attached to the rest of you?” she asked, without turning round.   
  
“Oh, all right,” he sighed in aggrieved fashion. Fred walked into the room in his entirety a few seconds later. “The problem with those Floating Body Part lolly charms,” he said thoughtfully, “is that if you use them too many times, it starts to get harder to reattach everything. See?” He pointed to a non-existent mark on his neck.   
  
“If you lost your head, it might be an improvement,” said Ginny, standing on tiptoe to reach a high shelf with the duster. Fred took it from her and began dusting.   
  
“I think it would help if I sang another song,” he said. “I heard one on the Muggle radio yesterday that I rather liked. I think it went like this… _Sing with me, sing for the years_ _  
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears, Sing with me, if it’s just for today…”  
  
_Ginny ignored him. He cleared his throat and broke into a horrible falsetto.   
  
_”Dream on, dream on  
Dream yourself a dream come true  
Dream on, dream on  
Dream until your dream come true  
Dream on, dream on, DREAM ON...”  
  
_She clapped her hands over her ears.   
  
“Have we been working you too hard?” he asked seriously—or, thought Ginny, as close to serious as Fred would ever get. “Is that what made you snap?”  
  
“I haven’t snapped. I just—“  
  
“You seem so unhappy. I know!” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve been working on a little thing I like to call the ‘Happy Happy Joy Joy Helmet.’ You could test out the beta version!”  
  
“No, Fred.”  
  
She snatched the duster back and kept working, not looking at her brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shuffling his feet awkwardly.   
  
“You had a fight or something with Harry, didn’t you?” he asked.   
  
“In time,” said Ginny, “you may even be able to see things written in letters a foot high in red ink and shoved one inch below your nose.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—maybe some of it was my fault. I pushed him on you too much. But Gin, I saw you with all those boys who weren’t good enough to lick your boots, and that thick prat Harry ignored you for years. I was over the moon when he wanted to date you—he came and told me first, you know. I thought you’d finally got someone who deserved you.” He looked so sad and hangdog, all the sparkle gone out of his sherry-brown eyes. Ginny felt a pang of remorse. She put the duster down and hugged her brother tightly.   
  
“Don’t worry about it, Fred. This is one I’ve got to work out for myself.”  
  
***  
  
Ginny went straight back to the Leaky Cauldron that night, avoiding Colin, who was hanging around the entrance to the shop and peering into the windows at intervals. As she drearily munched toast by the fire in her room, she heard the feathery brush of wings at the door. She opened it to find a large snowy owl with a parchment tied to its leg. She absently gave it all the toast and unrolled the letter.   
  
_Dear Ginny,  
  
I’m having dinner with you tomorrow at six. I won’t take no for an answer. This is not a request. I’ll pick you up at the shop, and if you aren’t there I’ll hunt you down without mercy.   
  
Your cuddly snuggle-pal,   
  
Colin  
_  
***  
  
December 23rd, 1997  
Diagon Alley  
Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes  
  
As the clock struck five, Ginny heard the tinny tinkle of the back door bell. She was going over the ledgers with an abacus and a quill pen, and she laid them both down at the sound, her heart thumping. The door opened. She was sitting so close to it that she shivered at the cold breeze. When she saw Harry’s dark head, her heart sank. Then she felt hideously guilty.   
  
She studied him surreptitiously. He couldn’t see her, of course, for all that he was only a few metres from her. He looked so terribly worried, his green eyes large and anxious, and she suddenly wished she could brush back the unruly strands of black hair from his forehead, and soothe him with her warm hands, and tell him that everything was going to be all right. That was the sort of thing she had always longed to do for Harry, and had been so happy to do once they finally started dating.   
  
Fred was up front helping a huge group of Gryffindors pick out Frog Fondant and Maltese Pug Meltaways for the upcoming term, so George came to the back door. 

  
“Hello, Harry,” he said.   
  
“Is Ginny all right?” Harry blurted out before George had even finished greeting him.   
  
“Yes, she’s all right.”  
  
“I can’t find her anywhere. I went round her rooms at the Leaky Cauldron and she wasn’t there. Where is she?”  
  
“Don’t worry about that.” George picked up a large ledger and started leafing through it.   
  
Harry got the bullheaded expression on his face that Ginny remembered from two nights before. “Something’s happened to her.”  
  
“No, it hasn’t. Oh, bloody hell. This ledger’s got all sorts of mistakes in it. I swear, if I didn’t work so hard on the books day and night around here…”  
  
Ginny was rather glad it was one of those that Fred was responsible for, not her. But she also noticed that there seemed to be something queer about George’s tone of voice, and the way he kept glancing at Harry. _It’s as if he’s waiting for some sort of response from Harry, and if it’s not the right one… yes, that’s it. It’s like a test._ _  
  
_“Yes,” continued George, “more fiscal responsibility. That’s what Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes really needs.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry blinked, owl-like behind his round black glasses. “Well, I suppose, if you say so. But, listen, Fred, you’ve got to help me find Ginny.”  
  
“I’m awfully busy just now, Harry.” There was a perceptible icy tone in George’s voice.   
  
“But I’m worried about her, Fred. She hasn’t talked to me since—well, not since yesterday. We had a bit of a fight. Nothing serious, I’m sure of it,” Harry hastened to add. “She’ll come round. But if I can’t talk to her, if I can’t even find her—Fred, she must have told you where she went.”  
  
George looked up at last and sighed. “Yes, Harry, she did.”  
  
“Then where is she?”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that just now.”  
  
Harry looked perplexed. “Fred, I don’t understand.”  
  
“Yes, I know you don’t.” George unscrewed the top of a new bottle of ink. “And that’s why I’m not going to tell you.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“Close the door on the way out, would you, Harry?”  
  
“Fred, listen to me—“  
  
George smiled pleasantly at Harry. “And don’t let it hit you in the arse.”  
  
“Fred, I don’t understand why you’re being so—“  
  
“Oh. And by the way, I’m George.”  
  
“Sorry,” said Harry faintly.   
  
“You’ve never once been able to tell us apart in seven years, Harry. ‘Bye now.”   
  
Harry got to the door, and then paused. “Will you at least take a letter for her?” he asked.   
  
“I suppose I could.”   
  
Harry spent several minutes scribbling lines on a piece of parchment, and then gave it to George, looked at him hopelessly.   
  
“You know exactly where she is, don’t you,” he said.   
  
“Yep,” said George.   
  
“And you’re not going to tell me, are you.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“I—I really do care for her, you know,” Harry said in a low voice.   
  
“I know,” said George.   
  
***  
Ginny curled up on the overstuffed couch next to Colin, legs tucked under her, facing him. The scent of roast beef and potatoes and gravy still hung in the air, and there were a few scraps of fruit tart and cheese left on the plates that were scattered across the low table near the fire. They’d eaten dinner in her room. It was an extra charge to have it brought up, but she knew that Fred and George would cover it. She and Colin had things to discuss that she wasn’t going to talk about in the crowded taproom. Ginny supposed that she’d put off talking long enough.   
  
“So, what’s in that letter Harry left for you?” Colin asked, with the air of one who has shown great patience.   
  
Ginny sipped at a cup of tea, curving her hands around its warmth. ”I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t read it. I’ll open it now, if you like.”  
  
“Er—are you sure? What if he mentions all the juicy details of—“  
  
“There weren’t any.”  
  
“Didn’t you say he came up here the other night?”  
  
“Nothing happened,” Ginny sighed. “Well, all right, a bit happened.”  
  
“The plot thickens,” said Colin.   
  
“But then I… um…didn’t want to do what Harry wanted to do, and I sort of ran from the room and hid.”  
  
Colin shook his head. “I never would’ve believed that Harry would try to force you into anything.”  
  
“Oh, he didn’t. Harry wouldn’t do that. But it’s just too hard to explain. Let’s read the letter.” Ginny slit the seal, and they both bent over the parchment as it unrolled.   
_  
Dear Ginny,  
  
I’m thick about girls sometimes, you know that. Always have been, likely always will be. _

_  
But even I know by now that’s something awfully wrong. George didn’t have to tell me that you didn’t want to see me—I figured it out on my own. But how can I understand what’s wrong if you won’t talk to me, Ginny?  
  
Sometimes I think that maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I suppose you didn’t like my telling you that you shouldn’t know the whole truth, and when I think about it, I can’t really blame you. Please believe that I really did think it would be better if you didn’t. The truth about these dark things, Voldemort and the Death Eaters and the rest—it can be so dirty, Ginny. You are one of the few things in my life that is clean and pure, all the way through. I just wanted to keep you that way, and if I was wrong, I’m sorry. _

_  
But then I remembered how I felt my fifth year, when nobody would tell me anything, when Dumbledore and the Order kept all those secrets from me. How angry I was… I’m going to tell you something, Ginny, that I’ve never told to anyone else.  
_  
“Should I be reading this?” asked Colin.   
  
“Go on,” said Ginny.   
  
_I’m going to tell you something, Ginny, that I’ve never told to anyone else. If they’d only told me the truth about everything they knew, I never would have gone to the Department of Mysteries the way I did. I wouldn’t have brought you and Neville and Luna, and all the rest. And maybe… maybe Sirius would still be alive.  
  
So when I thought about that, I knew that I had to tell you. Maybe I shouldn’t. But I’m going to do it anyway, and then perhaps you’ll forgive me for not telling you before. _

_  
There’s a Binding spell placed on the two of us, as you know. But what you don’t know is why.  
  
You’re the seventh daughter of a third son, and the first Weasley girl in three hundred years. You’ve been possessed by evil—Tom Riddle—and survived. There’s so much potential magical power in you, the Order members are saying, power you haven’t even dreamed of yet. And to protect that power, it has to be bound to someone we can trust. That’s me, Ginny. And here’s the really important part. This sort of bond is used from time to time for all sorts of reasons, but Dumbledore says that with you, it could create so much magical power that it could tilt the balance in the favour of the light side. _

_  
So that’s why it’s important. Now here’s the part that—well, I really wish I could talk to you, Ginny, in order to explain it properly. I’m afraid that by just writing down the bare facts, it’s going to look pretty dodgy.  
  
These sorts of Binding spells aren’t well understood. But as far as anyone can tell, they can only be cemented physically. Which means that we have to make love, Ginny, in order for it to work.  
  
And sure enough, that came out all wrong. I sound like I’m just trying to jump you when that’s not it at all. I reckon that’s what you thought before, and why you stopped me that night. I respect you, Ginny, more than I could ever say. That’s why I want to marry you after I graduate. I know we’re so young, but we’re not really all that much younger than my mum and dad were when they married. I want to show you that I don’t just want you for your body. I want to prove that I do respect you, and—  
_  
Ginny crumpled up the parchment in a single motion and threw it into the fire. The flames blazed up and consumed it.  
  
“Hey!” said Colin, startled.   
  
She stared down at her own hand. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she said. “But I couldn’t bear to read another word.”  
  
Colin grimaced. “Well… it’s true that it wasn’t exactly the most romantic love letter the world has ever seen, Gin. But the rest… Jesus! Rather a lot of responsibility to put on the two of you, isn’t it? I wonder if Dumbledore’s going dotty.”  
  
“So do I.” Ginny put her head in her hands and stared into the fire.   
  
“And I didn’t think you were still a virgin,” Colin said thoughtfully. “That  _is_  a bit of a surprise. I didn’t think anybody could possibly date Seamus Finnegan for more than fifteen minutes and keep it intact.”  
  
“Yes, well, I spent most of the relationship fighting him off me, which is why it didn’t last.”  
  
“Is that what you had to do with Harry?” Colin asked, his voice suddenly going serious.   
  
“No. I told you, it wasn’t like that. He really does respect me, you know.” Ginny struggled for words. “But in a way that almost makes it worse.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Would  _you_  want to sleep with someone because they respected you?”  
  
“I see your point,” Colin admitted. “It’s sweet that he wants to marry you.”  
  
“But, Colin, think about it a moment. It doesn’t make sense. How on earth am I supposed to be able to decide who I want to spend the rest of my life with when I’m only sixteen and a half years old?”  
  
“You used to think you knew,” said Colin softly. “Remember what you told me about the plans you used to make when you were eleven? You had your entire wedding to Harry mapped out in your head, right down to the bridesmaids’ robes.”  
  
“I did. Once. I don’t blame Harry. Not entirely, anyway. It’s probably all my fault, really,” Ginny said miserably. She wished she could tell Colin about what she had done with Draco Malfoy. If she told someone else, the awful weight on her chest might lighten a bit. But she already knew that she couldn’t. And if she couldn’t tell Colin, she would never be able to tell anyone.   
  
“Colin, will you tell me something?”  
  
“If I can.”  
  
She turned to face him. “Do you think it really is me? I mean—“ She stopped. She was putting her darkest fears into words now, and she had to force the words past a lump in her throat. “Is there something wrong with me?” she blurted out.   
  
“Not a thing. Remember when we studied the Continuum of the Endless in History of Magic class? Remember that painting of Desire in the book? I always thought she looked like you, all dark gold eyes and tawny hair.” He reached out and tweaked one of her braids. “If I were straight, I’d go for you myself, you know that.”  
  
“Well—thank you, Colin, but I don’t mean that! I mean, I’m still a virgin, you know that now. I’ve had plenty of chances to change that. And I haven’t taken any of them. I always told myself it was because I was saving myself for Harry. Well, now Harry wants what I’ve saved, and I can’t give it to him.” _And I ran from Draco Malfoy, too,_ she thought, knowing she could never say the words. “What if there’s something wrong with me—really wrong? What if I can’t ever have sex?”  
  
Colin looked back at her silently. He bit his lip.   
  
“You think I’m right, don’t you?” she said in a very low voice.   
  
“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “No, I don’t.”  
  
“You do. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me, like you’re trying not to say something.”  
  
“It’s not that.”  
  
Ginny wiped at her eyes. Tears were welling up in them in spite of everything she could do to stop them. “Well, what is it, then?” she asked, her voice quavering.   
  
“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this,” muttered Colin. “I am, though. You have to know. But after I get through with this story, you might pour all the cold tea over my head. Or possibly beat me to death with the poker.” He took a deep breath. “Last month, on the last Hogsmeade weekend before the holidays, do you remember how Harry just sort of disappeared for hours on end? And I did too?”  
  
“Yes,” sniffled Ginny. “I wondered where you went.”  
  
“Well, while Luna dragged you and Hermione to that little bookshop to see that book about Stonehenge, I went with Harry and Ron to the Hog’s Head. They’ll sell firewhisky to anyone there, you know. We all got pretty pissed and lost track of the time, and Ron started talking to some Beaters from the Ravenclaw team that were there, and then we lost of track of him… and I got an idea, it seemed like a really good idea at the time…”  
  
Ginny looked at Colin suspiciously, wondering where all this was leading.   
  
“Harry mentioned that there were rooms upstairs, and I said I’d never seen them and they might be interesting. So we went. We weren’t either of us walking in a straight line by then, so it took us awhile, but we did make it to a room. Now, understand, Gin, that I think I knew even then that deep down, you really didn’t want to be with Harry. So I really did this for you,” Colin said piously.   
  
“What on earth happened?”  
  
“I said that the bed in the corner looked awfully interesting.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“I asked Harry if he wouldn’t like to look at the carving on the headboard more closely.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
Colin looked down at his feet. “I, er, jumped on the mattress and dragged Harry down onto it and tried to kiss him.”  
  
Ginny gave a great whoop of laughter through her tears.   
  
“Well,” said Colin, “that’s certainly not the reaction I expected to get.”   
  
“Did he let you?” she asked, sitting up and drying her eyes.   
  
“No,” said Colin. “He punched me. Then the bed collapsed.” He winced and put a hand to his nose, obviously reliving the memory.   
  
“Oh.” Ginny felt curiously deflated.   
  
“So the big seduction scene didn’t go too well.” Colin grimaced. “I can safely say that Harry’s not queer.”   
  
“Can I tell you something awful?” asked Ginny.   
  
“Worse than what I just told you?”   
  
“Maybe. It’s that I actually thought—for just a moment—that it might be easier if he was. I think I almost wished he was.”  
  
“That’s not awful,” Colin said cheerfully. “After all, I wished it, too.”  
  
“But I knew he wasn’t. You see, when we… well, when he came here the night before last, and we were on the couch, and we almost…”  
  
“You really need to learn how to finish your sentences, Gin.”  
  
“You know exactly what I mean! Anyway, when all that happened, I knew that he wanted it, or sort of did, anyway. He wanted sex; he just didn’t exactly want—well, I’m not even sure what it was that Harry didn’t want. But the point is, if he had been queer… Colin, you shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
“Because Harry’s your boyfriend? Or at least he was when I tried it?”  
  
“No, because I think that we both have to be virgins for this Binding spell to work,” said Ginny dully. “You know. The one that’s going to save the wizarding world? That’s how these sorts of spells always work, Hermione told me.”   
  
Colin looked uncomfortable.  
  
“What?” demanded Ginny.   
  
“Uh… I really hope not,” said Colin.   
  
“Don’t tell me you’re offering to do the deed with me,” Ginny said dryly. “And Harry already turned you down.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that if that really is true, then I wouldn’t give much for the hope of the wizarding world.”  
  
“Look, I’ve had a few boyfriends, Colin,” said Ginny. “But I never got anywhere near that far with any of them, so what’s the problem?”  
  
“The problem is that there are two people involved.”  
  
“But Harry—“  
  
“Isn’t any virgin,” finished Colin.   
  
She stared at him. “What on earth do you mean? Cho never did more than kiss him. Luna didn’t get any further; we talked about it, and I know she was telling the truth.”  
  
“I’m sure she was, but-- Ginny, there’s something else I have to tell you about Harry. I wouldn’t, except that you need to know. I didn’t find out about it until long after I’d tried to… you know… with him. Actually, it was just this week… which is the main reason I didn’t want to tell you…”   
  
Ginny gulped. She had a bad feeling about whatever it was she was going to hear. “All right,” she said.   
  
“Two days ago, I was in Hogsmeade, in a part where the students usually don’t go. It’s at the other end of the road from the Shrieking Shack. That’s where… you know… the Crystal Palace is. D’you know what that is, Ginny?”  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. “I have six older brothers, Colly. I’ve heard all about the Crystal Palace. What were you doing there?”  
  
“Applying for a job next summer as the bookkeeper.”  
  
Ginny giggled.   
  
“I don’t think there’s anything funny about that,” Colin said in a dignified way. “I’d make more money than I could in the Muggle world at Burger King or McDonald’s, and they really like to hire bent boys for the job—they don’t bother the girls. Anyway, the point is that I saw Lupin there.”  
  
“Maybe he was applying for some sort of work as well.”  
  
“I doubt it. He was going upstairs with a woman.”  
  
“Well, that’s none of our business,” said Ginny primly. “I suppose it must be dreadfully hard for him to have girlfriends—with his problem, I mean—although he’s so sweet and kind, I’m sure he’d be a wonderful—“  
  
“I don’t need to hear about your crush on Remus Lupin just now. I wanted to tell you about something else.”  
  
Ginny blushed. In her second year, she had indeed had an awful crush on Professor Lupin when he had taught at Hogwarts, although it was long over with. She decided to hold her tongue on that subject. “Well, what is it then?”  
  
“It’s who I saw him come in with.” Colin hesitated. “He brought Harry.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Yes. And then I asked around. Apparently, that was far from the first time Lupin’s taken Harry there. I heard that was over the summer after his fifth year.”   
  
“Oh.” Ginny leaned back against the cushions of the couch, pondering this new development. “Why?”  
  
Colin smirked. “I thought you knew what sort of house that was, Ginny…”  
  
She slapped his arm lightly. “I do! But then why didn’t he—oh, I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I mean.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “So we definitely know that Harry likes girls, but he doesn’t like me?”  
  
“I don’t think that’s it at all,” said Colin. “I think that Harry loves his friends. He saved your life once, Ginny, and that creates a bond that nothing can ever break. In that way, he loves you, and he always will. And he’s a straight teenage wizard, so he likes to shag girls. I’ll tell you something I’ve thought for a long time, though. I could be wrong, I suppose. But I think that those are the two tracks Harry’s emotions can move on. He doesn’t have anything else to offer anyone.”  
  
The two of them sat silently for a moment. On the table, the kettle was beginning to hiss.   
  
“Colin, you really have a gift for making a girl feel better,” said Ginny.   
  
“But do you think I’m right?”  
  
“Yes. I do.”  
  
Ginny poured herself a cup of tea, glumly. “But I have to do it, don’t I,” she said in a monotone.   
  
Colin shrugged. “Why?”  
  
“Because if I don’t sleep with Harry and then marry him, the wizarding world will go down in flames. And it’ll be all my fault.”  
  
“That seems a bit much, Gin.”  
  
“But you read that letter! This entire thing was Dumbledore’s idea.” Ginny shuddered. “That seems so wrong, somehow.”  
  
“Dumbledore making decisions about your sex life? Yes, it does.”  
  
She sipped her tea. “You’re taking all of this rather lightly, Colin. But it really is serious. I honestly don’t see that I have any other choice.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Of course, I’m not really like you, or your family. I lived in the Muggle world until I was eleven years old.”  
  
“So did Harry,” Ginny pointed out.   
  
“Yes, but his life was so miserable that he’s tried to forget all about it, as much as he could anyway. Mine was happy. So I still think like a Muggle in loads of ways, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at a time like this. I don’t see why you have to be doomed to this thing, and I wouldn’t just accept it. You might have other options, Gin.”  
  
“I don’t know…”  
  
“Just think about it.” Colin dropped a lump of sugar into her cup.   
  
After Colin left, an owl tapped at Ginny’s door and batted her head about with its wings when she opened it. With a sinking heart, she recognized Pallas, the dotty new owl that her mother had got at half price. She opened the parchment a little way, peeping at it.   
  
_Ginevra,  
  
_Ginny groaned. Whenever her mother addressed her by her full name, it was an extraordinarily bad sign. She skipped down to the middle of the page.   
  
_\-- your little spat with Harry. He didn’t tell me anything directly, but the poor boy is devastated. And to be honest, I thought I’d raised you better than that. I’m dreadfully disappointed that you’d even consider allow something like that to stand in the way of the salvation of the entire wizarding world. Young people simply have to learn to work these things out, and—  
_  
She crumpled the parchment up and threw it into the fire.  _That seems to be happening to all of my letters lately._  
  
Then she sat on the couch in front of the fire in her room, staring into the flames. There was a little spot of black moving in the very midst of each tongue of fire. Ginny imagined curling up safely within that dancing darkness, surrounded by flame.  _No-one would ever find me then…  
_  
She shook her head. The randomness of her own thoughts was beginning to frighten her. Tomorrow. She would have to make up her mind tomorrow. But how could she?  
  
“There’s nowhere left to hide,” she said aloud.   
  
Finally, she went to bed, banking the fire carefully first to a warm glow. She fell asleep quickly and slipped into a dream that seemed to have been waiting for her.   
  
She was walking naked in a lush garden filled with fruit trees. The yellow sun beat down on her head, warming her hair, the soft long grass was cool under her feet, and it seemed perfectly natural for her to wear no clothes. She stopped in front of an enormous tree covered with gold and silver apples. How delicious they look, she thought. She reached up her hand for one. A long snake dropped down from a branch and slithered towards her. It was a lovely enameled yellow-green colour.  
  
“Do you know what it issss that you would eat, human child?” it asked her in a hiss.   
  
“No,” she said truthfully.   
  
“These are the applessss of knowledge. They are dangeroussss to the taste.”  
  
“I want to try one anyway.”  
  
“It is easier to remain ignorant. Safer, some would ssssay.”   
  
“I cannot bear to live in ignorance any longer,” Ginny said.   
  
“Assss you wish.” The snake undulated all along its coils, and an apple dropped to roll along its shiny skin. It lifted its triangle-shaped head to her, the fruit balanced upon it, and Ginny saw that the snake had a human face, although she could not have said whose it was.   
  
She bit into the fruit. The taste was sweeter than all the apples ever grown in all the orchards of the world, and the sweetness spread through her body in ripples of divine pleasure. Ginny was still shaking with them when she awoke.   
  
She rolled over and stared up at the canopy of the bed for a long time. The taste of the dream still stayed with her when she fell back into sleep, a smile upon her lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all readers and kudo-ers! In Dreams is by Roy Orbison.

 

_December 24th, 1997_ _  
Diagon Alley  
Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_  
  
It was Christmas Eve. All the merchants had closed up shop, leaving bright wreaths of holly and ivy and pine on their doors. Only a few last-minute travelers could be seen in the streets, hurrying on their last errands before going home for Christmas, woolen balaclavas wrapped tight around their heads to shut out the cold. Snow fell softly, blanketing the street in white. A witchlight still burned in the back window of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred had gone home already, but George was still bent over a ledger, adding up columns of figures that certainly could have waited until after the holidays were over.   
  
He was there for her, Ginny knew.   
  
She looked out the window, hands folded in her lap. The streets were empty, and the snow fell silently. She could not go home yet. Fred had left the radio on when he went home, and neither she nor George had turned it off.   
_  
A candy-colored clown they call the sandman  
Tiptoes to my room every night  
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper  
Go to sleep, everything is all right.  
  
I close my eyes, then I drift away  
Into the magic night. I softly say  
A silent prayer like dreamers do.  
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you.  
  
In dreams I walk with you. in dreams I talk to you.  
In dreams you’re mine. All of the time we’re together  
In dreams, in dreams…  
_  
“Ginny, it’s five o’clock,” George said softly.   
  
She did not reply, nor turn her head.   
  
“I know what you’re waiting for— _who_ you’re waiting for. But how long are you going to wait?”  
  
“You can go home anytime you like,” said Ginny. “I’ve got the key. I’ll close up.”  
  
George snorted. “Mum would skin me alive. We don’t have any Portkeys, and remember the last time you tried to Apparate? Did we ever find all your fingernails?”  
  
“Just a bit longer, then,” said Ginny.  
  
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and put away that shipment of Mexican Trampoline Beans. They go on the Skiving Snackboxes Shelf,” said George.   
  
Ginny gave a long, deep sigh, and rose from her perch by the window. She started to stack the rows of vibrating boxes neatly on a shelf. _They look like something that ought to go in the Amazing Annex_. The thought made her smile. She’d been so eager to get in there once, but now she thought that she didn’t much care anymore. The whole world of bodily pleasure felt closed off from her, like a room that was forever sealed. What a sad, sad thought… She felt ridiculous tears rise to her eyes, and swiped at her nose impatiently with the back of her sleeve, and wondered where the box of tissues had gone.  _They were right around here somewhere! Down here, I think… oops, I can’t quite reach…_ Her head was stuck behind a stack of extra ledgers on a bottom shelf when she heard the faint tinkle of the back door bell.   
  
Ginny straightened up and whacked her head on the shelf. Nursing the pain in her temple, she sternly admonished herself not to be stupid. It was probably Colin, coming to see her with some last Christmas wishes. Or maybe it was Luna. She had said that she might stop by the shop, but she hadn’t yet. Fleetingly, she remembered that she had planned to send Luna an owl.  _I forgot all about it. Well, maybe later. I’d still like to know what on earth she was doing with Pansy Parkinson. Or—oh dear God, please, no!—Harry. He can’t see me or hear me yet. He’ll never know I’m here. But – wait, what if George finally gets fed up with me not making a decision?_ Ginny thought nervously.  _What if he just goes ahead and takes that last bite out of the Secret-Keeper chocolate bar? What if—_  
  
When she hurried to the counter at the back of the shop and peered around it, she fully expected to see the worst. For a moment, all she could do was to stare at what—and who-- she did see.   
  
George had swung the door open partway. He stood in the entry, one hand propped on the doorjamb. “Yes?” he said in a voice that might best have been described as guarded. But he wasn’t talking to Harry.   
  
A tall figure stood in the doorway, wrapped in an expensive-looking black wool cloak and a long black wool scarf. Slender hands went up to undo the scarf and shake it free of snow. Its head was white with snow, and in a few more shakes all the snow slid off, white becoming pale ashy silver. Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the shop. He stared at George, obviously taken aback. Ginny guessed that he had expected to find her here by herself.   
  
“Weasley,” he said, inclining his head in a short nod.   
  
“Malfoy,” said George. His voice was utterly neutral.   
  
If she hadn’t been hidden by the spell, Draco would certainly have seen her. But she was, and so he couldn’t. She looked her fill. His face and neck and hands were whiter than ever from the cold, resembling carved marble with two spots of colour in his cheeks. He stood as still as a statue.   
  
“Come in,” said George. “We’re not heating the outdoors, you know.”  
  
Draco let the door fall shut behind him. He moved warily forward a few steps. “Nice shop,” he said.   
  
Ginny choked. George dropped the slightest wink in her direction. “It’s even nicer when it’s actually open,” he said. “But it’s not, and I want to go home. What do you want, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco twisted his scarf between his hands. It was perhaps the first uncertain gesture that Ginny had ever seen him make. “I’m…” He stopped, bit his lip, and started again.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m looking for Ginny,” he said. “And I think that you know where she is.”  
  
“Oh?” George closed the ledger. “And what makes you think that?”  
  
“Because I’ve looked for her, and I can’t find her.”  
  
George raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”  
  
Draco leaned forward tensely, one hand at his belt. “Are you going to hex me if I answer that question, Weasley?”  
  
George sighed. “Malfoy, I’ve had you covered by an automatic Hexweb from the moment you came in the door. If I’d wanted to trigger it, rest assured that those hexes we all hit you with on the train at the end of fifth year would look like a first year’s attempt at a Tickle jinx.”  
  
“And that’s supposed to be reassuring?” Draco asked. But he did relax slightly, Ginny saw, and his hand fell from the wand holster that she knew he had at his belt.   
  
“It’s the best you’re going to get. Where’d you look, anyway?”  
  
“Everywhere,” said Draco.   
  
“Why didn’t you think of coming here first?” George interrupted. “You certainly know that she works here over the holidays.”  
  
“Why would you think I knew that?” Draco looked at George narrowly.   
  
“I saw you with her in front of the shop earlier this week.”  
  
Draco blinked. “Well, if I came here, there was such a high possibility that I’d have to speak to either you or your brother, Weasley.”  
  
“Desperation isn’t pretty, is it?” George asked out of the corner of his mouth, in Ginny’s direction.   
  
“What?” Draco asked.   
  
“Never mind,” said George. “Didn’t you go to the Leaky Cauldron?”  
  
“Of course I did. But I could never seem to find her room, and Tom wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m not entirely sure he can talk. But I did get to sneak a look at the guest ledgers by bribing a maid, and I saw something odd. She’d never checked out.” Draco looked at George appraisingly. “I don’t think she’s left Diagon Alley at all. I think she’s under some sort of Concealment spell. And I think she trusted you—and only you—with the secret of how to find her.”  
  
George leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “Very interesting theory, Malfoy.”  
  
“Am I right, Weasley?” Draco asked. His tone was positively polite, thought Ginny. That certainly added to the unreality of the entire situation. Certainly, she would have thought that Lord Voldemort dropping by for tea was more likely than one of her brothers having a civil conversation with a Malfoy.   
  
“Maybe you are,” said George, “and maybe you’re not.”  
  
“What are you, Weasley, a sphinx?” Draco snapped. Clearly, his unnatural patience was wearing thin.   
  
“To you, perhaps I am,” said George, his brown eyes bright. “I’m going to put a question to you, Malfoy, and if you expect to get anything more out of me, you’ll have to answer it right.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Who am I?” asked George.   
  
_I always knew the Weasleys were thick, but this is ridiculous._ Ginny could almost hear the words forming in Draco’s mind, but all he said was “I don’t understand what you mean.”   
  
“You know I’m one of the Weasley twins. But which one?”  
  
“George,” Draco said without a moment’s hesitation.   
  
“But how can you be so sure? Identical twins, and all that.”  
  
“You’re joking, right?”  
  
“Nope. Tell me how you know—or think you know.”  
  
Draco shrugged. “All the Weasleys look alike, if it comes to that. But how could anyone be thick enough to mistake you for Fred? The way you sit and stand and walk, tilt your head, put your hands in your pockets, lean back in that chair, that little mannerism of steepling your fingers together—any one of those would be enough. And the tone of your voice is different as well, the sort of words you choose, and the way you put them together, that habit you’ve got of hesitating just a fraction of a second before you say something. There’s too much to list, really. But anyway, I knew the moment I saw you from outside the shop.”  
  
“Oh? Why’s that?”  
  
“Fred Weasley would never be going over ledgers on Christmas Eve, for one thing. If he were stuck here at a time like that, he’d be moving around the room restlessly, like he was looking for a Bludger to hit—never sitting in a chair. But mostly it’s because he would’ve hexed me into a slug before I ever got in the door.”  
  
George grinned broadly, as if acknowledging a point scored.   
  
“So will you tell me where she is?” Draco asked.   
  
“The decision’s not up to me, I’m afraid.”  
  
A glowering look spread over Draco’s face, making it seem paler and pointier than ever. He took a deep, deep breath. “Please,” he said through clenched teeth.   
  
“I wish I had a Muggle video recorder. Nobody will ever believe you said that to a Weasley.”  
  
“If you ever tell anyone---“  
  
“Dry up, Malfoy.” George rummaged under the front desk and pulled out the half-eaten chocolate bar. He turned towards Ginny and held it out, looking at her questioningly. She nodded. He handed it to her, and she took a bite. The bittersweetness spread across her tongue and into her throat, and she could never have said if the taste was good or bad. George finished the chocolate bar in a single bite, and then turned back to the ledgers.   
  
Ginny watched Draco’s eyes widen in astonishment. He took a step forward, towards her, and then stopped. George jerked a thumb towards the door.   
  
“Out,” he said. “Before I change my mind. And if I have to look at the two of you in the same room for one more second, I will.”  
  
***  
Ginny gave Draco a sidelong glance as their feet made crunching noises in the snow. She wanted to ask him if he had really looked for her everywhere the way he’d told her brother he had done, but she did not. When they reached a little alcove next to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco beckoned for her to stand next to him, where they were protected from the wind.   
  
“There’s something I didn’t tell you before,” he said.   
  
Ginny waited.   
  
“You told me that there’d been a Binding spell placed on you and Harry.” He looked at her soberly. She had never seen or imagined his face so utterly serious, so devoid of mockery. “There’s one on me as well.”  
  
“One on you?” echoed Ginny.   
  
“Yes. On me, and on Pansy Parkinson.”  
  
The pieces fell into place. “I should have known,” Ginny said softly. “I should have guessed.”  
  
Draco put his hands into his pockets. “The thing is, when Pansy and I found out about the bond, we’d already… well, I’m sure you can guess what we’d already done. That part of it was all but over, to tell you the truth.”  
  
“All but over?” asked Ginny.   
  
“I—we—only once, after I knew. And that was because I didn’t have any choice. I’d long since grown sick of her. And I was angry when I found out. Angrier than I’ve ever been, or ever thought I could be. I thought anger was sniping at Potter and your brothers, you know? But this… All I could think was that I was leg-shackled to Pansy for all eternity now, and all because of something I never would have chosen to do, if I’d had any choice. So I did some research in the Malfoy library, and I thought that maybe the bond could be broken before it was too late, because she wasn’t a virgin when we first… I won’t say any more about that.”  
  
“That’s why you slept with all those girls,” Ginny said slowly. “You were trying to see if you could break the bond.”  
  
“And it didn’t work.” The snow was blowing in upon them and starting to collect in Draco’s hair again, making him look impossibly remote, a thing of stone, not of flesh. “None of it worked.”  
  
“So you thought that it might, with me? Because you hadn’t yet tried shagging a virgin, not that you’d know any?” Even as Ginny said the words, she knew that they weren’t fair or kind, and that they didn’t take into account the startling fact that he had actually come to her brothers’ shop in search of her. But she had to ask him. She had to ferret out his every motive, clearing away all possible deceptions until there was nothing left but the truth.   
  
His face closed itself even further. “You could think of it as a business proposition if you liked, Weasley,” he said. “It would prove to our mutual benefit. You’re certainly a physical, mental, and moral contrast to Pansy Parkinson. And Merlin knows, I’m Potter’s polar opposite. We could likely free each other from our respective Binding spells... if you want to be freed from Potter badly enough to give your virginity to me. Because there’s no other choice, I’m afraid.”  
  
He sounded as cold and sarcastic and forbidding as ever. His face betrayed no human emotion. But his hands… She looked down at them, looked closely. He had taken them out of his pockets and they lay on his robe. All his fingers were trembling, torturing the wool, rubbing it, worrying it, then letting go again, as if seized by a silent, pleading desperation.   
  
“A business proposition,” said Ginny.   
  
“Yes.”  
  
She stepped closer to him, her golden eyes very bright as they looked into his silvery ones. She put her hand on his chest, beneath his woolen cloak. “You might go so far as to say you want to,” she said.   
  
Draco opened his mouth, and then shut it again. No sound came out.   
  
“Do you want to?”  
  
Still nothing.   
  
“Because if you don’t…” She shrugged. “I thought that perhaps you did… a bit… since you were willing to watch the shop and then talk to one of my brothers in order to find me. But if not, then I don’t quite understand. Why did you go to all that trouble? Could you explain it to me?” Her hand went under the folds of the winter underrobe and smoothed along his sweater, feeling warm, tense muscles beneath.   
  
“Eep,” said Draco.   
  
“Eep?” Ginny cocked her head to one side. “That’s not a very informative comment, Malfoy.” She pushed herself back from him and made as if to go.   
  
Draco grabbed her hands with a suddenness that made her gasp, and began speaking in a high, panicky voice. “Don’t go. Don’t go. I looked for you everywhere, everywhere and I’ve finally found you and if you disappear on me again I don’t know what I’ll do, I’ve hardly eaten, I haven’t slept, I‘ve just looked and looked and looked—“  
.  
“Does this mean—?“ Ginny fumbled with the end of the sentence and finally let it drop. She was not even sure, herself, how she would have finished it.   
  
“It means that I don’t care about dark or light, Death Eaters or Dumbledore or Dark Lords or anyone else. No, not even my father… not even about him, not anymore.” Draco spoke to her very fast, urgently, as if terrified that someone would overhear him. His voice sounded defiant as well, although Ginny sensed that the defiance was not directed at her.   
  
“What do you care about?” she asked.   
  
“I care about myself. I don’t want to go down with them. With him.”

Ginny knew who he meant without being told, and thought of Lucius Malfoy, still locked in Azkaban.

“And they’re going to go down,” Draco continued. “They can’t win. So I want to save my own skin, just like Phineas Nigellus said. And…”  
  
“And what?”  
  
“And I care about you, Ginny.” His eyes burned an intense grey, the colour of ash at the very heart of a fire. “There. I’ve said it. I care about you. So if you want revenge on me for all the evil my father’s done to you and yours, and for the way I’ve always treated you and the people you love, you can have it. You could destroy me now, Ginny, if you wanted to, with just a word.”  
  
Ginny stopped. She stood on tiptoe, and she took Draco’s head in her two hands and drew it down to hers. She could hear that his breathing was very light and fast, like a frightened animal. She kissed him. The same sweetness she remembered from the first time she had done this raced through her veins, and her heart leapt with joy.   
  
They walked to the Leaky Cauldron and stood on the back doorstep, under the black iron sculpture of a witch that swayed in the winter wind. She opened the door and pulled him through. They walked up a flight of stairs and down a corridor to her room. She slid her key into the lock and swung that door wide, moving in and holding out her hands.   
  
“Come to me,” she said.   
  
He hesitated, and then stepped into the circle her arms made. His own arms went around her, holding her so tightly that it was almost painful, and he bent his head and buried his face in the curve where her shoulder met her neck. They stood that way for a long time. Very, very faintly, the sound of the radio in the taproom below drifted up to Ginny’s ears.   
__  
Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions  
I keep my visions to myself  
It’s only me  
Who wants to wrap around your dreams and...  
Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?   
Dreams of loneliness...  
Like a heartbeat... drives you mad...  
In the stillness of remembering what you had...  
And what you lost...  
And what you had...  
And what you lost…


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yep—after all the slow burn, here comes the smut. 😉

 

  
Things are seldom all they seem,   
Skim milk masquerades as cream…   
  
\-- Gilbert and Sullivan, _The Mikado_  

+++  
  
When they finally broke apart and walked through the door, Ginny felt almost shy. She bustled around the room, making tea, stirring up the fire, and fluffing pillows on the couch. Draco only stood and looked at her. She cleared her throat self-consciously.   
  
“Would you like some tea?”  
  
“Oh, yes.” He took a cup. So did she. They sat on the couch, not quite facing each other.   
  
“So,” said Ginny.   
  
“So,” agreed Draco.   
  
“Sugar?”  
  
“What? Oh, no—no.” He stirred his tea. “Are you afraid?” he asked suddenly.   
  
“Of course not,” she lied.   
  
“Well, I am,” he said flatly.   
  
“But why? You’ve certainly done this before.” She was startled.   
  
“I know my way around a bedroom, if that’s what you mean.” The familiar smirk popped up on one side of Draco’s mouth. It was almost comforting to see it. _Everything else is changing_ , Ginny thought. _But at least I can always count on the Malfoy smirk._ _  
_  
“Good job one of us does, I suppose,” said Ginny. “This would be an awful train wreck if neither one of us knew what we were doing.”   
  
“Oh, I do,” said Draco. “Don’t worry about that. But you’re wrong, Ginny, when you said that I’d done this before.” He moved closer to her. “Not like this. Not with you.”  
  
She felt his warm breath stirring the hair just above her ear, and she began to tremble.   
  
“You are afraid, aren’t you?” he whispered.   
  
“I suppose I am, a little.”  
  
“Do you want this, Ginny?”  
  
“Yes,” she said. She couldn’t help remembering what had happened two nights ago, when Harry had sat on this same couch, and asked her the same question. This time, her reply was the truth.   
  
He was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, his words were not what she expected to hear. “I know about the Chamber. What happened there, during your first year. I know about the diary, and Tom Riddle, and all of it.”  
  
She tensed until all her muscles felt as if they had turned to stone.   
  
“Shhh.” His hands traced soothing little circles on her back. “I didn’t say that to make you afraid. I said it because I know _why_ you’re afraid. I understand.”  
  
“Harry knows. But he doesn’t understand,” she said.   
  
Draco made a noise that was very like a snort. “Isn’t that the stunner of the year. Potter doesn’t understand something.”  
  
“Really, though, it doesn’t make sense. The Dark Lord put something of himself into Harry, you know? Something dark. That’s what happened when he survived the Killing curse as a baby. But all Harry’s ever done is to deny it.”  
  
Draco sighed. “I have darkness in me as well, Ginny. But you know that, don’t you? You’ve always known that.”  
  
“I knew that before I knew anything else about you. But there’s more than darkness in you; I know that now.”  
  
He did not reply.   
  
“And anyway, you don’t try to deny it.”  
  
“No, I don’t. I don’t.”   
  
Ginny clasped her hands lightly around Draco’s lower back. The solid feel of him was comforting. “Harry thinks what everybody thinks. Because nothing really happened to me in the Chamber—because Tom Riddle wasn’t solid enough to do more than touch me a bit, I mean—they all think that none of the rest of it, nothing else that he did to me, had any importance at all.”  
  
“I know better,” said Draco. He sat back and put his hands flat on the couch, away from her. “If I ask you something, Ginny, will you answer me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He smiled faintly. “Rather rash to promise, when you don’t know what the request is…. Have you ever seen a boy… or a man… naked before?”  
  
Ginny thought. _Seeing Percy getting out of the bathtub when I was nine years old doesn’t count, I suppose._ “No,” she said.   
  
“Well, now’s your chance.”  
  
A terrifying mixture of feelings rose in her. “I—“ she began, torn between excitement, craving, panic, and a desire to flee.  
  
“But it’ll be on your terms, Ginny, not mine. I want you to undress me. Go as slowly as you like. I won’t lay a finger on you until you’ve finished.”  
  
If Draco had moved toward her then, Ginny might have panicked entirely. But he sat perfectly still. The orange firelight flickered and spread little pulses of light across him as he sat on the couch, one arm extended over its back, one leg folded under him. It touched his ashy-blond hair with gold, and lent colour to the pale skin of his face and neck and hands. _I want to know if he’s that pale all over,_ Ginny realized. _I want to see him… all of him._ Slowly, slowly, her hands reached out to him.   
  
She pulled the green cashmere sweater with the little snake crest over his head. She unbuttoned the crisp white cotton shirt underneath it and slipped it off his body. Beneath that was a white silk undershirt, and he lifted his arms so that she could get that off as well. His bare chest was lean and pale as marble, thin but beautifully shaped, almost smooth, with a light sprinkling of silvery hair. She ran her palms along the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, and his arms. One of her fingernails caught on a flat male nipple and she heard his sharp intake of breath. _How strange,_ she thought _, that boys should have those too. I wonder…_ Acting on impulse, she bent her head and kissed first one nipple, and then the other, feeling the tiny pebbles rise under her tongue. Ginny’s hands smoothed down his taut abdomen, feeling the muscles quiver under her exploring fingers.   
  
His hands were clenched into almost-fists against the couch. Ginny could feel all of the desperation she’d felt in him two nights before, when he had slammed her up against the closed door of his room and torn her clothes off. But tonight, he still had not touched her. He was keeping his promise. Ginny had never even imagined trusting Draco Malfoy about anything before in her life, but… _I can trust him now. About this, anyway._ That realization filled her with a faint sense of wonder.   
  
“Should I go on?” she asked.   
  
“Please,” he said. He sucked in his breath sharply when she began to unbutton his woolen trousers. “Gods, yes, please!” he repeated.   
  
_You don’t seem to mind begging a Weasley now_ , thought Ginny. Her fear was leaving her mind. She could feel it beginning to lose its moorings and slip away even as she slipped the trousers down his legs, feeling the long muscles of his thighs and calves underneath, perfectly sculpted from all those years of Quidditch. But there was some fear in her still, and her hands stopped at the border of his green silk boxers.   
  
“I—I can’t, yet,” she admitted. “Not just yet.”  
  
Draco gave a deep sigh that made his entire body quiver, but he nodded. “What do you want now, Ginny?”  
  
She simply looked at him for a long moment, because that was what she most wanted to do. He seemed to understand, sitting very still in the position where she had left him after taking off all of his clothes… except for that last scrap of green silk. _He’s beautiful,_ she thought. _Like a specimen of some strange magical animal that’s wandered into my rooms, a hippogriff or a cockatrice, something perfect and wild and dangerous. But he’s sheathed his claws for me._ _  
_  
“I want you to undress me,” she said, surprising herself.   
  
Draco opened his eyes, which had fallen shut. “Has anyone ever done that for you before?” he asked.   
  
“No. I’ve never let them. I’ve… never really wanted anyone to do it, either.”  
  
One corner of his mouth went up. “Then it will be an honor,” he said, with a sort of quaint courtliness, “to be the first.”   
  
He caressed her back and arms and shoulders under her striped silk blouse for a long time before doing anything else. Ginny had certainly felt other boys do this to her before. But it had never felt like this. Nothing could have been further from the memory of Harry’s awkwardness, or Seamus’s greedy urgency to get her clothes off, or Neville’s fumbling hands. Ginny floated in the sensual pleasure of feather-light touches through cloth, sighing luxuriously.   
  
His hands were so gentle when he began to slip the buttons of her blouse from their buttonholes that Ginny almost didn’t realize what he was doing, at first. Then the silk slipped off her shoulders and to the floor. His palms crept up to stroke her breasts. Even through the stiff white nylon webbing of her brassiere, the sensation was so acute that Ginny didn’t know if she’d be able to stand much more. And then… oh God… she felt him undoing the hooks in the back. The fabric slipped off her chest. His hands were on her naked breasts and they overflowed his palms. His fingers circled her nipples and they grew stiff and hard, and little darts of pure pleasure shot down between her legs. His bright head bent down and he took one nipple in his mouth. She had remembered that so well from two nights before; it was one of the few sensations that she had been able to pull whole and complete from the maelstrom. But this was so, so different. Slowly, slowly his tongue explored the nubbly surface of each nipple, one at a time, exquisitely careful and thorough. Ginny pressed her chest forward as far as she could, into his hands, into his mouth, wanting to get as close to Draco as she could. They were going to get so much closer than this, and she wanted it to happen with a desperation so fierce that it almost tore her apart. His mouth was still at her breasts, but his hands moved down and down.   
  
“You look so beautiful in green,” he whispered against the stiff flesh of her nipples. His thumbs hooked into the silk knickers and pulled them down, trailing the lace trim along her thighs, making her shiver.   
  
“But you’re so much more beautiful in nothing.”  
  
At the promise in his voice, a little pulse ran down to the most secret part of her. She held out her hands to him, then whimpered when he moved away. “No,” she pleaded. “Don’t go—“ An awful fear bloomed in her mind from some dark place. Maybe this entire thing was some kind of elaborate trick. Maybe he would sneer at her, and leave her sprawled naked on the couch, panting for him, ready for the final consummation that would never come now. _How could you think that I would take you to bed…_ She could nearly hear the words.   
  
“How could you think that I wouldn’t take you to a bed?”   
  
She really had heard that. Ginny blinked. “Wh—what?”  
  
“Your first time isn’t going to be on a couch. Especially not the one where Potter tried so ineptly to seduce you.” Draco shuddered.   
  
“How did you know about that?” Ginny asked.   
  
He shrugged. “You must’ve said something, I suppose.”  
  
Ginny didn’t think she had, but the point hardly seemed worth pursuing at the moment. “Well, you weren’t so fastidious the other night,” she said.   
  
“I was wrong,” Draco said. His eyes had become very dark, the pupils swallowing up almost all the bright grey. “It would have been all wrong, that way.”  
  
”But it was what you wanted,” Ginny said.   
  
“I would have felt pleasure, but not you. I would have hurt you without meaning to… and I’m glad that I didn’t. Even though I almost went mad, looking for you… Where’s your bed?”  
  
“In the other room.”  
  
He reached out his hand to her. She took it. Together, they walked into the bedroom. He turned to shut the door, leaving Ginny standing uncertainly by the bed. Now what? She felt cold although the room was warm, suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that she was completely naked. Then Draco took one step forward and seized her in his arms, kissing her passionately, and her flesh was no longer an uncomfortable garment but a great shivering map of pleasure. He knew where to touch—everywhere to touch, and every bit of skin became an erotic zone, not only her breasts and nipples but the skin on the backs of her arms, her inner elbows, her wrists, the curve of her buttocks, the smooth skin on her hips. When his fingers finally slipped between her legs, she simply collapsed onto the bed behind her, and he followed.   
  
“Lie back,” he whispered, and he moved between her thighs. He had been slow and gentle so far, but his hands were uncompromising, firm and shockingly accurate. He seemed to know her better than she had ever known herself. His fingers circled the little bundle of nerves and stroked the sides of it, moving lower, exploring the wet hungry core of her, touching her in ways she herself had never dared to do. She made little mewing cries and the flames of pleasure licked higher and higher. When she was close to the brink, he pushed a single finger into her body. The invasion was sudden and shocking, but she was so close, so very close that she arched her back up to meet him.   
  
“Does this hurt?” Draco whispered to her.   
  
“A—little, maybe a little— don’t stop! Gods, don’t stop! I’m so close, Draco—I’ve never come for anyone else, but I will for you, I want to for you--”  
  
“I won’t stop. I won’t. But you’re so tight, Ginny. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel something you’ve never felt. You’re going to feel it now…” Draco turned the finger and raked it gently across the inner part of her that had never before been touched. It was too much. She arched off the bed, her entire body contracting in deep waves of orgasm around his hand. When they had barely subsided, he stroked her there again… and again… Ginny sobbed out her pleasure through babbling cries and incoherent words, not knowing what she said or even thought, only knowing that he was right. She had never felt anything like this, never, never, never.   
  
Finally he let her rest. She lay back on the bed, panting, eyes half-closed, watching him. Draco drew her hands towards his hips. “Take these off me,” he said thickly.   
  
She wasn’t afraid anymore, Ginny realized. She still trembled at the unknown, but she was no longer afraid. Slowly, slowly, knowing that there would be only one first time for this, she took the waistband of his boxers between her hands. She pulled them down Draco’s legs, losing a bit of her courage at the last minute, looking away. She saw the green silk slide to the floor.   
  
She felt him before she saw him. Something thick and long and hard pressed against her upper thigh as he took her in his arms. She was totally naked and now, so was he; they were lying together in a bed; they were really going to do this thing… so she had to look at him now. Ginny held her breath and opened her eyes.   
  
“That can’t fit,” she said flatly.   
  
Something like Draco’s old smirk spread over his face, but it was softer now. “I’ve made you ready, Ginny,” he said. “You’re so ready, so wet...” He reached down to explore with a finger, and she felt herself quiver again. “Oh, so wet! And it’s all for me. Because of me.”  
  
His words were shameful and wrong and utterly, darkly delicious. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think so… but…it will hurt. Won’t it?”  
  
“Do you trust me?” he asked.   
  
She nodded.   
  
He pulled her hand to him. “Touch me, Ginny.”  
  
She stroked her fingers all the way up his erection, base to tip, the touch featherlight. It looked enormous and felt impossibly hard, like some sort of weird sculpture in white and pink blue-veined marble. She wasn’t sure if Draco actually was any larger than normal, or if fear and inexperience had combined to produce the effect _. But… It throbs. It moves in my hand. It’s like a thing alive, a separate entity of its own…_ She squeezed, tentatively. He groaned. She dropped what she held.   
  
“Oh! Did I hurt you?”  
  
“No,” he said, his voice very rough. “But I don’t think you should do that again.”  
  
“Didn’t you like it?”  
  
“Oh, I liked it.” He took her hand in his. “I want to hold back, Ginny, and if you touch me, I can’t…When your hand was on me, I almost…” His breathing had grown harsher. She could hear it. He pressed her up against the headboard and began kissing her neck, urgently.   
  
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said. “Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes,” Ginny said. She wasn’t at all sure that she was telling the truth. But the moment had come; she was dangling her foot over a precipice, and she wanted to jump.   
  
Draco was still holding one of her hands in his. He took the other and pushed both hands down to the bed so that her head was on the lace-trimmed pillow and their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “Spread your legs for me,” he whispered. Ginny parted her thighs and felt his knee pushing them apart further. “Raise them at the knee,” he said, and when she had moved into the position he wanted, he moved between her open legs, pinning her down.   
  
Between Draco’s weight on her body and his hands trapping her own, Ginny couldn’t move a muscle. A little tremor of fear went through her.   
  
“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” he said. “Here.” He pulled her hands up and clasped them around his lower back, angling her fingers so that her nails were set on his skin. Their eyes met.   
  
“ _Now_ ,” she said. Then, made shy by her own boldness, Ginny glanced up and over Draco’s shoulder. She saw two slender pale bodies in a glass, darkly. One ivory figure knelt between the spread legs of the other.   
  
“What’s wrong?” asked Draco.   
  
“Nothing—only I forgot about the mirror. I can see us, Draco.” It was a shocking sight. And yet…  
  
“We’re beautiful, aren’t we?” he whispered.   
  
“Are we?”  
  
“Yes, yes. I’m about to make love to you, Ginny, and you’re going to take me into yourself for the very first time. And even though you’re still frightened, you won’t be soon, because I’m going to show you how beautiful this can be.” He lowered his head until their foreheads were touching. “And you can watch, if you like… you can watch your first time, Ginny…” The dark secret forbiddenness of his words sent a shocking thrill through her. She had not meant to watch, but she did watch him slowly lowering his hips to meet hers. Then she could not watch anymore; she could only feel.   
  
She felt him gently, gently probing her wetness. It wasn’t painful. It was such a curious sensation, though; she’d never really even imagined anything like it, this large, hard, blunt object exploring her, this perfectly wet and ready part of her. He moved forward and down with exquisite slowness, until just the head of him was embedded in her. Her body gave a little quiver at this totally unfamiliar new thing, but he was so very gentle that she did not yet feel any pain. She relaxed. Ginny could still see the mirror hazily, out of the corner of one eye, as she floated in this wonderful sensation of being held close, of his skin pressing against every inch of hers, of his arms holding her so tightly…   
  
She saw Draco pull his slim hips back, but her mind did not yet register what that meant. That part of him she had already learnt to crave drew away from her slightly. She whimpered. “Please,” she said.   
  
In answer, he thrust his hips forward. Hard.   
  
_Pain… pain_ … it splintered through her lower body, radiated down into her legs, up into her belly and almost to her chest. He kept pushing into her, thick and hot and hard, and she felt the tender inner parts of her give way to him. He kept sliding deeper and deeper within her and she struggled to keep from crying, because she didn’t want Draco to stop, even though there was pain… or was there? Tears spilled over her lashes but she didn’t know what was causing them anymore. It wasn’t pain, what she felt. It wasn’t pleasure. It was some sensation beyond both. Then there was one final thrust, and some last thing within her gave way, and he lay still.   
  
“Are you all right, Ginny?” he asked in a harsh rasp of a whisper. She nodded, completely unable to speak. Her entire body felt as if it was being stretched, not only the parts that were actually joined to him.  _Joined to him_ … She felt dizzy. Draco was inside her. He was a  _part_  of her. She had expected pain. She had not expected this possession. She felt as if every bit of her had been deliciously flayed and laid bare to him, and she quivered under the touch of his skin, the weight of his body, the length of him that invaded her so…  _sweetly?_  
  
He began to move upon her, rhythmically, gently. Yes. This invasion of her most private self was sweet. She began to move her hips up towards him, tentatively. The deepest parts of her still ached from trying to contain him, and she suspected that most of them were not located in her body. He sucked in his breath sharply. His face contorted as if he, too, were in pain.   
  
“I’m—not--- going to last,” he gasped. “Can’t—I’ve been waiting too long—“  
  
“For me?” she whispered, instinctively adjusting her hips to match his quickening thrusts.   
  
“For you,” he said. “For you, Ginny. You… you… it’s always been you…”  
  
The meaning of his words did not quite penetrate her mind; he was penetrating her body too fully, too thoroughly, rocking into her over and over and over again. But some part of her suddenly understood the weakness that was in him. She had been his weakness. She did not know why, or for how long, but she sensed that truth through all her being. And now she had given her own self to him; whatever that might mean. In turn, he had made her his, sweetly and relentlessly; even if she ran to the ends of the earth, or sailed beyond the sea, something of her would always remain his. A terrible tenderness spread through all of her. She reached up her hand and smoothed a lock of pale hair back from his sweaty forehead, and that gesture was his undoing.   
  
He tensed in every muscle, hovering above her. “Ginny,” he whispered, in something between a moan and a sigh. “Ginny…” And she felt him swell and break within her, burying his face in her neck, sobbing out his pleasure, flooding her with the essence that was him. Then he collapsed at last, spent and safe in her arms, like a sailor come to shore after a long and weary voyage.   
  
Afterwards, they lay together silently for a long time. Ginny wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t know if she was yet ready to say anything. She felt sore and a little battered, even though Draco had been as gentle as he’d promised he would be, except, as she now realized, when it was kinder for him not to be. But it all melted into one wonderful feeling; the soreness, the aching between her legs, the aftermath of all the tension in her thighs where she’d held them apart for him in such an unfamiliar way, the soft scratchiness of his hair on her shoulder, the warmth of his arms around her, the solid weight of his legs draped over hers. _I’ve come home_ , she thought, not knowing in the least what she meant. _Home…_    
  
“Thank you,” he finally said.   
  
She nuzzled her nose into the curve of his neck in response. She knew what he meant, but still she felt that she should be thanking him.   
  
“No-one’s ever given me that gift before.”  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I should think you would’ve gotten enough gifts in your life, Draco.”  
  
“Not like this one. You were the first to ever choose me as your first, Ginny; I told you that. And you were the first person I ever chose.”  
  
She thought about that. “But what about Pansy?”  
  
“I didn’t really choose Pansy. We were always thrown together, that’s all. We always knew how right we were for each other, how perfectly our families matched each other.”  
  
“Maybe that’s why she slept with someone else before you,” Ginny said softly, unable to believe that she was actually feeling sympathy for Pansy Parkinson. But her heart had been expanded in the last hour somehow, and she was thinking of things that had never occurred to her before. “Maybe she wanted someone for her first time that she chose. That’s why I gave this to you, Draco.”   
  
“You did, didn’t you? You chose me…” he whispered. “Are you glad?”  
  
“Yes, yes.” He had such a strange, agitated way of speaking whenever he said things like that, thought Ginny. As if he’s sure he’ll be overheard… found out… punished. She put an arm around him and felt the shape of his ribs under his too-thin chest. “But what about all those other girls?” she asked, teasingly.   
  
The familiar smirk came back. “Oh, I don’t know… who am I to deny the girls of Hogwarts the greatest lover they’ll ever have?”  
  
She smacked him.   
  
“Ouch! That hurt.”  
  
“You deserved it.”  
  
“Well, you did ask.” His face turned serious. “I didn’t exactly choose any of them, either. They were there, that’s all. They were willing. I didn’t sleep with anyone who wasn’t already experienced, or who didn’t understand exactly what I offered them. And I wanted to break that bond with Pansy so badly… but it never worked anyway.”  
  
She traced a path down his smooth chest with a finger, loving the way he shivered under her touch. “Who was your first, Draco?”  
  
He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Ginny…”  
  
“I want to know. I’m curious. It wasn’t Pansy, was it?”  
  
“Oh Gods no. Not that she didn’t try. Still, I don’t think that you really—“  
  
“Did you get a bed-elf on your fifteenth birthday? Some of the older families do that, I know. Fred and George were furious that they didn’t.” Ginny giggled. “I wasn’t supposed to hear about that, but I have my ways of finding out things. Come on, Draco… I’ll torture it out of you if you don’t tell me…” She scratched her fingers over his nipples, feeling them rise.   
  
“Witch,” he muttered, catching her hands in his and kissing the fingers.   
  
“Well spotted. Come on. Talk.”  
  
“I already told you that I didn’t get a bed-elf, remember?”  
  
“Oh. I forgot. So what did happen?”  
  
Draco sighed and looked up at the ceiling, locking his arms behind his head. “Well, there’s a place called the Crystal Palace, in Hogsmeade—it’s been there for millennia, before the Romans ever came to the British Isles. You probably haven’t heard of it—“  
  
“I have.”  
  
He looked at her sharply. “How?”   
  
“Oh… a friend told me.” Remembering her conversation with Colin, Ginny was hard put to it not to laugh.   
  
“Fine, don’t tell me then. Anyway, if you must know-- there’s another tradition besides the giving of bed-elves. My mother wouldn’t have them in the house…” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling. Ginny began to regret that she had ever brought this subject up. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “The other one is to bring wizard boys to the Crystal Palace on their sixteenth birthdays. That’s what was done for me, over the Christmas holidays of my fifth year.”  
  
“Oh,” said Ginny. Her bravado seemed to have evaporated. “Was it, uh… nice?”  
  
His mouth twisted up. “I’d say. It’s one of the specialties of the house. There’s a very elegant parlor, all red silk and low lighting, and the girls are sitting on sofas, or talking with each other. I was brought in by myself, I remember, and left alone… the girls don’t try to chat you up or anything so tacky as that, especially not with the very young boys. They waited for me to choose one of them. And I did… it was a choice of sorts, I suppose, though nothing like this. I chose a girl with long red hair and bright brown eyes. A woman really I suppose; she was older. Marie-France was her name. And I came back to see her on all the Hogsmeade weekends.” Something about his voice told her that this was not the end of the story.  
  
“I never heard about that,” said Ginny.   
  
“You don’t think that I was going to tell Gryffindors about it, do you?”  
  
“No, I suppose not… I always did wonder why I never saw you on Hogsmeade weekends.”  
  
“Well, that was why. I never told anyone though, actually. No-one knew.” Draco wrapped his arms around his knees, broodingly.   
  
“What happened then?” Ginny asked, already knowing that she might not really want to find out.   
  
“I became… too attached. It was only supposed to last through the second half of my fifth year, though, and I knew it.”  
  
“You mean, er… it wasn’t just a one-night thing?” Ginny asked, fascinated in spite of herself.   
  
“Oh, no. It’s a sort of magical contract, really; it goes back thousands of years. An experienced woman has to be willing to take on the responsibility of awakening a young wizard boy to the world of sex, and that can’t be done overnight. It never lasts less than five months… but never more. Still, I made plans to meet Marie-France over the summer, and she agreed…”  
  
Ginny did not ask any more.   
  
“Then she simply disappeared. The accountants at the Crystal Palace said that there was no record of her ever having been there. My father said that he didn’t know anything about it. I always hoped that he was telling me the truth.”   
  
“Did—did you ever see her again, this Marie-France?”  
  
“No.” Draco continued to stare at the ceiling.  
  
She held him tightly, not knowing what else to do. He did not respond. She whispered something in his ear, sounds rather than words, really, _sshhh, shhhh, it’ll be all right, Draco, it’ll all, all be all right_. She kissed his shoulder, his chest, the curve where his neck met his collarbone. He seemed to really see her again then, and he grabbed her in his arms and rolled over on top of her and kissed her with an awful, painful desperation. She felt how hard he was again already, and a warm rush of sensation spread down to her loins. But then he ground his hips against hers, and she winced. His expression changed.   
  
“You must be sore, Ginny. I’m sure I hurt you—I tried to be as careful as I could, but I still couldn’t keep from hurting you, I know.” He got up, out of bed, and reached out a hand to her. “Come on.”  
  
Ginny really began to feel the soreness when she walked, and she was glad to stop in the little bathroom. She sat on the edge of the toilet while he ran a bath for her and added a purple stream of liquid from a small bottle on the sink. The air was filled with the scent of lavender. He helped her into the large bathtub.   
  
“Mmmmm,” she sighed, feeling the perfumed water soak all the aches away. “Is there room for two?”   
  
“Maybe. It’s not quite as big as the prefect’s bath, is it? But we’ll try.” Carefully, Draco eased himself into the water next to her. It came perilously close to slopping over the edge. She giggled. He leaned forward and kissed her, and she sighed again with the pleasure of hot water, steam, the scent of lavender, the wonderful pressure of his lips, and the joyous feeling of being naked in a bathtub with Draco Malfoy.   
  
He laved her with a washcloth, rubbing gently, and when he had done, she did the same for him. _His body is so beautiful,_ she thought. _I never thought that a boy’s body would be beautiful, but his certainly is_. She felt that she could never get enough of touching his slender chest, his sinewy arms, his lean, well-muscled legs with their faint sprinkling of fair hair, his slim hips, his…. _Oh, my._ She ran her fingers along the length of his erection, and then, growing bolder, clenched him in her hand. His eyes fell shut, and his head fell back. “If you don’t want me to come in your hand, Ginny, you’d better stop doing that,” he said.   
  
“I think I’d like to see that,” she said.   
  
“Don’t stop, then. Harder. Sort of-- make a fist-- Yes. Oh! Just like that. And use your other hand to touch me under… oh yes…”   
  
She squeezed him and pumped him, changing the rhythm of her touch in accordance with his words and cries and whispered pleas, until finally all speech left him and she felt him swell and quiver in her hand, and then he came for her, jerking uncontrollably against her fingers. She studied Draco’s face at the moment of his greatest pleasure, and she thought that she had never seen anyone or anything so vulnerable. _And he showed this to me. He laid himself open for me…_ _  
_  
Afterward, he dried her, and wrapped her in a huge towel.   
  
“Better now?” he asked.   
  
“Much. I barely feel sore at all. Maybe we could…” She played with the edge of her towel.   
  
He grinned. “Maybe we could. But, listen, Ginny; there’s something I forgot about before, and I have to do it now.” He reached for his wand on the dressing-table.   
  
“What are you doing?” she asked, her brow furrowed.   
  
“A Post-Contraceptive spell.”  
  
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” she said, shrugging. “I took a potion a couple of days ago.”  
  
He froze. “Did you,” he said. She did not miss the coldness in his voice.   
  
She raised her chin. “Yes, I did,” she said defiantly. “So you don’t have to worry about it, Draco.”  
  
“You took it for Potter, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice very calm. Too calm.   
  
“I planned ahead, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “You certainly know now that I didn’t use it the way I thought I would when I took it.” She heard the snap in her own voice. “Draco, I didn’t choose Harry in the end. I chose you. There’s nothing for you to be upset about.”  
  
Draco stood tensely for another moment, and then sighed. “You’re right,” he said, and led her back to bed. “Lie down. I want to give to you what you gave to me.”   
  
She expected to feel his fingers on her, but she didn’t. Instead, he kissed her mouth, her neck, her chest, each breast, her abdomen, her hips, her inner thighs, her—  
  
“Oh!” Her eyes flew wide open. “I didn’t know you could—“  
  
Draco raised his head from between her legs. “That’s all right. I’ll show you,” he said. And he did. Again and again, she shivered with the pleasure he gave her. From time to time, she would lift her head a bit to watch him licking and kissing at the valley between her thighs in the mirror, and the sheer wickedness of the sight almost made her swoon. Then he would swirl his tongue in a particularly inventive way, or nip at her just slightly, in exactly the right place, and her eyes would close as the sensations bore her body away on tides of ecstasy.   
***  
Ginny lay in Draco’s arms, her head on his shoulder, her hair spread across his chest. She could see a sliver of the quarter-moon through a gap in the curtains at the window. She wondered what time it was. It seemed late, but the last thing she wanted was to go to sleep. Now, in the ebb tide of their shared passion, something was niggling at her mind. Something he had said…  
  
“Draco?”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“Will you tell me something?”  
  
“If I can.”  
  
“Do you remember what you said earlier?”  
  
“I said a lot of things earlier… but yes, Ginny. I remember all of them.”  
  
“It was when we were, er, and you were about to… well, you know.” Ginny’s eyes dropped. “You said…” She felt suddenly very shy. “You said that you had been waiting too long for me. That it had always been me.”  
  
“Yes. I did.”  
  
“I didn’t understand what you meant. Or did you mean anything?” She cleared her throat. “Some of the girls used to talk in the Gryffindor common room, late at night, and I used to listen, sometimes. All right, I used to spy on them, if you must know. They were the girls who’d already had sex, and they had this way of looking at you if you hadn’t—anyway, I never wanted to let them know I was there. And one of the things they used to say was that, well, when a boy was in the middle of having sex, he’d sometimes say things he didn’t really mean. They said it wasn’t anything to get upset about. It just happened. So I wondered if that’s what that was. The things you said.”  
  
“Oh, what I said meant something, all right,” said Draco. “Do you really want to know what it was?”  
  
“Of course I do,” said Ginny.   
  
“Are you sure?” He looked at her, and there was something sorrowful and almost defiant in his eyes.  
  
“I asked, didn’t I?”  
  
“All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll tell you, Ginny.” His voice was almost harsh and pitched very low, and as he spoke it turned into a choked, whispering growl.   
  
“I still remember the first time I saw you. Standing outside that bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, waiting for Potter in your shabby patched robes with your second-hand cauldron. I saw you before you saw me. I didn’t know who you were. I should have known, from your hair, but I didn’t. Something in me just stopped when I saw you, Ginny. Like a giant hand had grabbed my heart and squeezed it hard—I don’t think I breathed for a full minute—I just stood and stood where no-one could see me, and I willed you to look up and look at me, but you didn’t. And then Potter came out and I saw by the way you looked at him that your whole heart was pinned on him, even though you were just a child. We were all children then, Ginny, but it didn’t make any difference really, did it? You loved him—“  
  
“I didn’t,” interrupted Ginny. “I really didn’t, Draco. I only thought—“  
  
“Yes, maybe you only thought you did, but you’re one of those people who loves or hates with everything that’s in them, and even your thoughts are so powerful, Ginny. You blazed up at me, defending him, and I saw hatred in your face for me. I was so angry that I told the truth, the absolute truth. ‘Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.’ I still remember my exact words. And Potter was so thick that he didn’t begin to understand anything that really happened that day. He still doesn’t, I think… I didn’t start hating him until then. Did you know that, Ginny? Oh, I didn’t like him before that, don’t think I did; I tried to get him in trouble whenever I could, but I didn’t truly hate him until that day… that day when I knew you were his, even if he never wanted you.”  
  
Furious words of denial sprang to Ginny’s lips. But she couldn’t say them, somehow. She remembered how long and hopelessly she had pinned all her hopes on Harry, and how stubbornly she had stuck to him after he finally started dating her, even though she now realized that she had always known it wasn’t right. She couldn’t speak. She could only listen as Draco poured out his heart to her.   
  
“I tormented you every chance I could get that year. Remember?”  
  
Yes, she remembered.   
  
“I tried to always do it when Potter wasn’t around. I didn’t want it to have anything to do with him. Sometimes he was there anyway… like the time when I told you that I didn’t think he liked that Valentine you sent very much. But usually not. I wanted to see those golden eyes of yours snap at me in anger. I wanted to hear your voice, even if it was saying terrible things to me. I wanted you, Ginny. Not the same way I do now. You were a child then and so was I, but I wanted something of you that is eternal, that will be the same when you’re very, very old, Ginny… something of your soul, your spirit…”  
  
She swallowed hard, and laid a hand on his chest. “You have it,” she whispered in his ear.   
  
“No, I don’t,” he said dully. She jerked back as if he had slapped her. He did not seem to notice. “I was the first to know a part of your body that nobody else has ever known. That’s all. It’s so trivial, really… Anyway, I found out the truth about what had really happened to you that year over the next summer, when I overheard my father talking to Nott. He didn’t feel any guilt over what he’d done to you with that diary. So I think I took into myself what he didn’t feel, couldn’t feel, even though I never spoke of it. I didn’t speak to you for years either, Ginny… I tried to forget that you existed, or that I’d ever felt anything for you… until you hit me with the Bat-Bogey Hex, that day in Umbridge’s office.”   
  
She pulled away from him and wrapped a sheet around her naked body, fire in her eyes. “You tried to get us in horrid trouble. She was going to expel us all, and use Cruciatus on Harry, and you just stood there and laughed—“  
  
“Try to use your brain, if you have one, Weas—No, I’ll never call you by that name again. I’ve had you naked and squirming under me, coming when I tongued that pretty pink cunt of yours, begging me to fuck you. I’ll call you Ginny now, whether you like it or not!”  
  
He sat up suddenly, his hands clenched into fists. They stared at each other from opposite sides of the bed, like adversaries.   
  
“Didn’t you ever think it was strange that I did what I did, that day?” he asked. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that what my father and the other Death Eaters wanted was to have you and Potter and Granger and the rest lured out of the castle? If I was really on the side of darkness, what sort of sense would it have made to keep you there, even if it was in Umbridge’s office?”  
  
“I—I never thought of that,” stammered Ginny.   
  
“There are a hell of a lot of things you’ve never thought of.” He rubbed his hand over his neck, wearily. “They left scars, those Bat-Bogeys…” And now that Ginny knew where to look, she could see that they had. Long, very faint, silvery-coloured scars marred the pristine whiteness of his neck. In this light, she could see them. She hadn’t noticed them before.   
  
“Were you really trying to save us?” she asked.   
  
“There wasn’t any ‘us’ about it. I didn’t really care if all the rest went to the Department of Mysteries like a bunch of idiots and got themselves killed. But you, Ginny.” He swung round to face her. She gave a startled cry. “I wanted to save you,” he said. “And you went with them anyway.”  
  
She bit her lip. Did he expect her to thank him? How could she, when she didn’t even know if he was telling the truth? When she remembered all too well the look of sadistic glee on his face when they had all thought that Umbridge was going to put Harry under Cruciatus? And the way he had laughed when Umbridge had said that Hogwarts would shortly be a Weasley-free zone; how could she forget that?  
  
“So why’d you start talking to me after I began dating Harry?” she asked.   
  
He propped his chin on his hand, and did not answer her directly. “Everything changed after the Department of Mysteries, after my father went to prison. But what I expected least was that things would change in me… because something in me had changed. I never thought he’d be caught. I never believed they could get him into Azkaban. And then they did, and half of Slytherin suddenly didn’t talk to me anymore…” He shrugged. “It was crumbling, crumbling away under me, and… there were expectations thrust on me too soon.”  
  
“What does that have to do with—“  
  
“And then I saw that something else had changed, as well,” he said, ignoring her interruption. “Potter decided that he would deign to notice you. I heard about it long before that day in Hogsmeade.”  
  
“How?” she asked, feeling like a fool. Was she the only one who hadn’t known?  
  
He snorted. “He talked about it to Granger and your brother. Haven’t you ever heard the saying, three wizards can keep a secret if two are in their graves? I made it my business to find out. I knew I shouldn’t care—couldn’t care. And then I saw you with him, that day, and there was nothing to do but laugh.”  
  
“But—what about after? When you started talking to me?”  
  
Draco stared into the distance. “Things began to change even more, then. You don’t know, Ginny… no-one knows, except for… well, I think I went a bit mad for awhile. Just the pressure of everything…”  
  
“I still don’t understand why you started to talk to me, when you never had done before,” she insisted.   
  
“Don’t you?” His eyes were hooded, and looked very dark. “No, you don’t, and you should be glad.”  
  
Ginny set her teeth. She had given him her body that night, but she had also given him more than her body, even though she had never planned it that way. She had whispered the secret of her gift to him. And he had looked right through her and dismissed her, coldly. Now he was rambling on about things she didn’t understand, refusing to explain them to her. An icy anger had been rising in her during all his words, battling an awful urge to break down and cry. Something in me just stopped when I saw you, Ginny. Like a giant hand had grabbed my heart and squeezed it hard… But how could she believe him, when he had rejected the secrets of her own heart?   
  
“I don’t think that you do have to tell me, Draco,” she said, each word clear and cold. “I think I do understand. I should have known when you got so angry about my taking the potion for Harry.”  
  
“You don’t know enough to understand it,” he said.   
  
“Oh, I know enough,” she replied.   
  
“You’re not making any sense,” he said.   
  
“I’m making plenty of sense.” Ginny could hear her own voice rising. “This whole thing has been about getting one up on Harry, hasn’t it? He didn’t sleep with me, but you managed to! He was my boyfriend, but you shagged me first! I’m like a Snitch you stole out from under his nose, no more than that--“  
  
“You’re so wrong,” Draco said tiredly. “Everything isn’t about Potter. If you only knew the truth, you wouldn’t—“  
  
“And what is the truth?” she demanded, stabbing her forefinger into his chest. The sheet had fallen, but Ginny didn’t care, didn’t even notice her own nudity; didn’t think about anything but the fury pouring out of her mouth. “Maybe it’s that it isn’t Harry you’re jealous of! It’s me!”  
  
“You’re raving,” he said.   
  
“Am I? I don’t think so!” Ginny dimly knew that she was probably was raving by now, but she could not seem to stop herself. “Why else have you always hated him so much? Hatred’s the other side of desire, isn’t it? That explains it all! You’ve always secretly wanted Harry, and you knew you could never have him, but if you could steal me from him then you’d get your revenge, and—“  
  
Draco began to laugh.   
  
“It’s not funny!” screeched Ginny. “Admit it, Draco! Admit your secret lust for Harry—“  
  
“Oh! Oh, gods, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard—“ Draco doubled up with laughter, pounded the sheets, and fell off the bed with a thump.   
  
“Ouch,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his head.   
  
Ginny burst into tears. “You—you don’t want me,” she hiccupped, crying so hard that she could barely get the words out.   
  
“You’re out of your mind if you really think that. Maybe you could use a good stint at St. Mungo’s anyway, if you honestly think I would touch Potter with a ten-metre pole. Ugh.”  
  
Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at him with wet eyes. “You don’t trust me,” she whispered brokenly.   
  
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. “You want the truth?” he asked. His voice was very quiet.   
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I doubt it.”  
  
“Just tell me, Draco. Tell me the truth.”  
  
“The truth…” he said musingly. “I’m not even sure that I know what the truth is, anymore.” He picked something up from the bedside table. Then he turned to face her. He was holding her wand, and he pressed it into her hand.   
  
“What’s this for?” she asked.   
  
“I’m going to tell you the truth,” he said. “I’m going to tell you what I was supposed to do, over these Christmas holidays. And what I didn’t do. It’s strange, really…but I want you to have your wand when you hear it.”  
  
She clutched it tightly. The familiar feel of the smooth mahogany was reassuring.   
  
“I was supposed to complete the Binding spell with Pansy, first of all,” he said.   
  
“I guessed that.”  
  
“It was thought that maybe the real problem was the fact that we’d only slept together once since the spell was put on us both. So we were supposed to do it again. And I wouldn’t.”  
  
“I see,” she said. “Is that all?”  
  
“No, that’s not all.” He looked at her. She tried to read what he was feeling in his eyes. But they were too hooded, too dark, too weary. “I was supposed to kidnap you and take you to my father.”  
  
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.   
  
“I’ve known for a long time that the Order planned to put a Binding spell between you and Potter. That’s why I was ordered to start talking to you, Ginny. I had to know when they were going to do it… but the Death Eaters had their own ways of finding that out. No, the real reason I had to stay close to you was so that I’d know when the two of you were going to consummate that bond.”  
  
“And when Harry came to see me at the shop…” whispered Ginny.  
  
Draco nodded. “I overheard enough to know that he was planning it for the next night. That was when it all began to fall apart, you know. The Binding spell with Pansy was supposed to be consummated before that night. It would provide enough power to carry out the plan. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t touch her.”  
  
Ginny licked her lips. They were suddenly very dry. “Then why didn’t you take me when I came to you from Harry and threw myself at you?” she demanded.   
  
“You didn’t want—“  
  
“Why would you care about what I wanted? You could have completed the ritual of power then. Or maybe the setting wasn’t pleasant enough for you; is that it?” She looked around the room, scornfully. He seemed about to speak, and she forestalled him. “You liked this sort of thing better. You wanted to take your time, Draco… oh, I’m sure that you wanted to get your own pleasure out of this thing, as well. But that’s not why you wanted this, is it? I was right. You didn’t want me, not really. You wanted the power that you could get through me. Now you’ve got it. I walked right into your trap, didn’t I? But you overlooked one thing. I’ve got this.“ Ginny raised the wand, and pointed it at Draco’s chest.   
  
_But, wait… he didn’t overlook it at all. He gave it to me_. The thought was so strange that her grip wavered. In that moment, Draco grabbed her arm, twisted her wrist, and snatched the wand away from her.   
  
“That’s the last noble impulse I ever have,” he muttered, his face white. “You could have killed me.”  
  
“And that’s supposed to surprise you?” said Ginny. “After what you did to me—what you planned to do—“  
  
“No! No! You weren’t even listening!” Draco ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand on end. “I was supposed to kidnap you, Ginny, not make love to you. I wasn’t supposed to lay a finger on you! That’s the point of all of this. You had to be a virgin when I brought you to them… to _him_.”  
  
“Oh…” The full meaning of Draco’s words sank into Ginny’s mind. She rolled into a small ball, clutching her stomach, feeling suddenly and desperately sick.   
  
“They had a ritual of power planned, Ginny,” Draco said, his voice deliberate. “My-- Lucius Malfoy was going to take you in front of a select group of Death Eaters on the high altar. There was a break from Azkaban planned, you see. And you’d befriended me, just a little. You’d let me in just a tiny way. I was going to be the bait. You’d trust me enough to walk into the trap, and I’d Stun you and bring you to Malfoy Manor, with Pansy’s help.” He bent over her. “But it didn’t work out that way.” She clamped her hands over her ears. He pried them off.   
  
“I didn’t bond with Pansy, which I was supposed to do. Pansy ran off, which _she_ wasn’t supposed to do. And then you came to my rooms; I didn’t even have to go looking for you. You came to me like a sacrificial lamb, Ginny, but I still thought that maybe I wouldn’t have to go through with what I’d promised my father and the rest of them. I was so relieved when you told me you weren’t pure and innocent, Ginny. Remember when you told me that, in the alley behind your brothers’ shop? I thought it meant that the Death Eaters were wrong, that you weren’t a virgin after all, that you were safe from them. But then I found out that you were, that night. I think I overdid my surprise a bit when I knew, because I’d really known all along that it wasn’t going to be that easy to escape what they had planned for me. I could have kidnapped you then. I didn’t. Then I searched for you, but when I found you, I didn’t tell anyone, which is what they’d told me to do. Instead, I came back to your rooms with you. And when I took your virginity, I ruined all the Death Eaters’ plans. If they ever get hold of me, after this...” His hand forced her chin upwards, and his eyes bored into hers. “They don’t forgive, Ginny.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.   
  
“No,” he said. “You still don’t know everything. There’s still one more thing.” Draco sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, staring broodingly into space. He began to speak, low and very fast, as if to himself.   
  
“They’d all take their turns with you then, Ginny. After my father was done. The sacrifice of your virginity was the purpose of the ritual, but after that… well, there was another purpose as well. They’d be allowed to… play.”  
  
“Have you seen this done before?” she asked, through numbed lips.  
  
“No. I only heard… but I heard enough. There’d be eight or nine of them… Rookwood, Mulciber, Avery, Dolohov… I can’t think of who else just now. Not everyone. There are some men who won’t do these things, even though they’re Death Eaters. For this ritual, it would be need to be the ones who wouldn’t be moved by your screams and promises and pleas. And then… then, when they’d all done with you... it would be my turn.”   
  
And, at last, Ginny did understand. Still, she listened as he continued to explain.   
  
“We were watched, Ginny. All year. There are spies everywhere. They knew that I was getting too close to you. My cover was too deep. I was beginning to care… and that was the last thing they wanted me to do…” Draco shivered. “So this ritual of power would also be a test for me. If I could stand by and watch you brutally raped, that was half of the test. But it wasn’t enough. The other half would come when they were done with you, and turned you over to me. When I walked up to the altar where you were bound, and undid my robes, and looked down at your naked body. Could I look into your eyes, Ginny, and refuse to see their desperation? Could I hear your crying and begging and screaming and pleading, and turn a deaf ear to it all? Could I know what had been done to you, and still do what I had to do? Of course…” Draco said musingly. “I suppose they counted on you being half mad by then, with fear and shock and pain. You wouldn’t even look like yourself by that point, Ginny; you’d be only a victim, trapped and torn and violated. It’s easier to violate someone who’s already a victim. Yes, they were counting on that. And if I did what I was supposed to do in front of them all, then I would have passed.”  
  
But you didn’t, thought Ginny.   
  
“No,” he said, as if reading her unspoken thought. “I didn’t. I failed.” His shoulders went down, and he gave a long, shuddering sigh, slumping across the bed. “I failed the test.”   
  
Ginny sat up and crawled over to Draco, touching his arm. “No,” she said softly. “No, you didn’t fail, Draco, no, no, no.”   
  
His entire body shook, but his eyes were dry. She ran her hands over him. “Shh, shh,” she crooned. “It’s all right…”  
  
“You shouldn’t touch me,” he said.   
  
“It’s too late for that,” said Ginny. Slowly, deliberately, she bent her head and kissed him. A terrible joy spread all through her at the feel of his lips on hers.   
  
“Ginny—“ he began.   
  
“Don’t talk,” she said urgently.   
  
Gravely, he nodded. Then he pulled her down to him, seized her in his arms as if he would never let her go again, and began to cry, noisily and inelegantly. He cried for a long time, and when he was done, he lay in her arms. They kissed, spending at least as much time on this simple connection as Draco had spent crying. Even though they had already known each other’s bodies in so many ways, the kissing seemed more intimate than anything else they had done. She brushed his lips lightly with hers, feeling their texture; he suckled on her tongue; she tasted the tears that had fallen into his mouth, licking away their saltiness. Their mouths slid along each other over and over, and since they were already in each other’s arms, and already naked, she was not even sure when his body slid into hers as well. He moved slowly on her for a very long time, lasting and lasting until pain and pleasure melted into each other.   
  
“Do you believe now that I want you?” he whispered.   
  
“Yes,” she replied.   
  
“Believe, then, that I have never wanted anything so much as this.” And Draco reached down and touched her between their joined bodies, and again and again he proved it to her. When she was limp and spent with her pleasure, he took his at last, gasping out her name over and over. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.   
  
Somewhere in the deepest part of the night, they fell asleep, locked tightly in each others’ arms, the scent of mingled tears and sweat and sex mingling like some exotic perfume around them. Ginny and Draco slept long and dreamlessly. Her sleep had been broken by dreams too often lately, and he was more exhausted than she could guess. His secret battle had worn out his body and soul, and it had been a long time since he had slept the whole night through.   
  
  
Ginny didn’t know what awakened her, but she found herself blinking sleepily up at the canopy of the bed. Some sort of sound in the hallway, maybe? I don’t hear anything now. She felt the warmth of another body curled up against hers, and smiled. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at Draco’s sleeping face. He looked very vulnerable when he was asleep, his pink lips parted slightly as he breathed, his hair tousled and mussed, as he would never permit it to be if he were awake. Ginny drew her forefinger lightly down the long curve of his nose. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up in one quick movement and pinned her against the wall. She gasped.   
  
“Sorry,” he muttered, releasing her arms. “Sorry, Ginny.”  
  
She rubbed her wrists. “Is that how you treat all your bed partners?”  
  
“I thought—well, never mind what I thought.” Draco kissed the curve of her wrist where it met her hand. She shivered at the simple feel of his lips moistly touching her skin. “Better?” he asked softly.   
  
“Mm-hm. But what about here?” She pointed to her neck. He kissed the pulse throbbing just above her collarbone.   
  
“And here,” she said, her hand trailing up to her jaw. His tongue seemed to find all the nerves in her neck just below the hollow of her ear, and she felt her nipples harden, although he had not yet touched them.   
  
“Anywhere else?” he asked.   
  
“Here…” she whispered, lifting her fingers to her mouth. And she closed her eyes then, and lost herself in his long slow lingering kiss.   
  
Neither of them even heard the door open.   
  
Too late, Ginny heard the sound of footsteps moving across the floor, light and quick, more than one set. In the split second before her head snapped up to look, a torrent of thoughts rushed through her head. _It’s Ron. I’ll see my brother’s face looming over me. He’s got to be with Harry, and maybe Mum and Dad… oh, God. They were expecting me back at the Burrow for Christmas Eve, and I didn’t come. That’s why they’re here. Oh God, this couldn’t be worse_ … But then she did see who had entered the room, and it wasn’t Ron, or Harry, or her parents.   
  
And that was when Ginny knew just how much worse things could be.   
  
  
A/N: Why the cliffhanger? Oh, I'm evil that way... ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all readers, reviewers, and kudo-ers! :)

  
Then everything happened at once, so quickly that Ginny could not begin to absorb it all.   
  
In a flash, the room was filled with several black-cloaked figures, moving as efficiently as if they were taking part in a well-choreographed dance. Most of them were masked as well. But one was not, and Ginny realized that she had seen him first. He was a tall man with brilliantly fair hair. He moved towards the bed, flanked by two others who protected either side of him. The man took in the scene with a glance, and gave a curt nod, as if by pre-arranged signal. Ginny looked up into the face of Lucius Malfoy.  
  
She had done nothing except to clutch the bedclothes to her chest to hide her nakedness. There had hardly seemed time to make any other move. Draco had pressed himself closely to her side. Dimly, she heard that his breathing was shallow, and very fast. He was holding her wrist so hard that his grip was painful.   
  
“Well, well, well,” Lucius Malfoy said at last. “So you did find her.”  
  
Draco made no reply.   
  
“Yet somehow you neglected to inform us of that fact.” His voice was so like Draco’s, Ginny thought irrelevantly. But something was different. What was it? Was it that he’d lowered it to a dangerous drawl, so that it sounded like the purr of a giant cat about to strike?  _No, that can’t be it. Draco can sound like that too._  
  
Lucius walked around the bed slowly, the heels of his boots making sharp little raps on the wooden floor. He paused and looked down at his son. “It rather looks as if you’ve taken matters into your own hands, doesn’t it, Draco?”  
  
_Why doesn’t he say something?_ wondered Ginny.  _Or would that make it worse? Or is it that… no, it couldn’t be, I won’t think of things like that… but why he won’t look at me? Draco, look at me, please. Turn your head and look at me…_ But Draco stared into his father’s eyes and did not look away.   
  
Lucius turned to look back at Ginny then, as if her message had gone slightly astray. His glance was cold and appraising. “Yes,” he finally said, his voice soft. “I believe that what’s happened is clear enough.” He straightened.   
  
“Get dressed, Draco,” he said.   
  
“What will happen now?” Draco asked, still not moving. His voice sounded oddly remote, as if he actually cared very little about whatever the answer might be. Ginny felt an odd chill begin to wash over her skin. She wondered if she could reach her wand.  _No. It was over on the bedside table, and then I put it back there. That Death Eater’s got it, and Draco’s, as well._  
  
“We’ll deal with the new situation once we’ve had time to regroup,” said Lucius. “In the meantime, the only thing to do is to get the Weasley girl back to the Manor, and to see what can be salvaged.”  
  
“Can anything be?” Draco asked in the same tone of voice.   
  
“There’s always something to be salvaged,” said Lucius.   
  
“You don’t seem nearly as angry as I would have expected you to be, Father.”   
  
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I was pleased. And yet…” His voice softened slightly. “I admit it, Draco-- I cannot pretend to be entirely surprised by this. After spending a year assigned to watch her every movement, perhaps this sort of outcome was inevitable.”  
  
“Really,” Draco said thoughtfully.   
  
“May I assume that…” Lucius swept a hand over the bed “… well, that this situation is all that it appears to be?”  
  
“You may.”  
  
“Ah. Then you did not do so badly as you might have done, Draco. Although there are one or two things I must know… ” Lucius leaned forward, and spoke in confidential tones. “You were her first, weren’t you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And the Weasley girl was, er… willing?”  
  
“Oh, yes.”   
  
Draco’s father smiled. The smile exaggerated the resemblance between them to the point of caricature. “Then the ritual can still be performed.”  
  
“Can it?”  
  
“Certainly. A Malfoy has taken her virginity, which is really all that was required. And a willing sacrifice carries even more power. The power obtained from it won’t be as pure, that’s true. But then…” Lucius shrugged in a seemingly casual gesture, but he did not take his eyes off his son. “Many things are perhaps not as pure as they ought to be. We all slip, Draco; we all stumble. But we pick ourselves up, and we go on. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”  
  
“Yes,” said Draco. “I think I do.” He was already reaching for his green silk boxers by the side of the bed and beginning to put them on. Ginny could not quite seem to get any words out of her mouth, but then she was not entirely sure what she would have said, anyway. Stupid little girl, kept echoing in her mind idiotically, again and again.  _A stupid little girl’s problems… but could I be called a little girl anymore, now that I’ve done what I’ve done? Does it even matter, if I’m going to be as stupid as this?_ And it seemed to her that the violent end of her nightmare about the snake had at last been fulfilled.  _So this is what it meant. And maybe this is what I deserve, for opening myself to such evil. Is Draco as evil as his father? Or is he only weak?_  
  
“Get up, Ginny Weasley,” said Lucius Malfoy’s flat voice. “Dress yourself.” She looked up to see Draco standing by his father’s side, far from fully dressed but looking at her just as coldly as his father was doing. She clutched the sheets more tightly to her naked body. The other Death Eaters in the room were staring at her, she was sure of it. Their masked heads were turned to her, which somehow made it worse than if she had been able to see their faces.   
  
“No, I won’t,” she said, amazed at the evenness of her voice. “Not in front of—of you.”  
  
“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen.” Draco snickered. “So it’s a bit late for maidenly modesty, isn’t it, Weasley?” He reached down to pull the corner of the sheet from her hand. She snatched it away from him with more strength than she would have thought she had left.   
  
“We have no time to waste here,” Lucius said impatiently. He began pulling his wand out of its holster at his waist. Draco stopped his father with a hand on his wrist.   
  
“I’ll take care of her, Father.”  
  
“Very good,” said Lucius. “Dolohov… if you would…” He gestured to one of the faceless Death Eaters at his side, who took Draco’s wand from the folds of his robe and handed it to him.   
  
“A Calming spell, I should think,” said Lucius. “I cast a rather complex Silencing spell on this room, but still, I’d like to keep her quiet. Screaming is so unseemly.”  
  
Draco raised his wand. Ginny closed her eyes.  _It’s cowardly of me, maybe. But I can’t bear to look on his face just now._ She waited to hear the words of the spell. When she did hear them, she knew, it would be a clean break, a quick, agonizing snap of everything that had been between Draco and her.   
  
“ _Serpentsortia_!”   
  
Her eyes snapped open. Draco had not turned the wand on her. He had whirled on Lucius Malfoy instead, and at that spell a green serpent had blossomed from the end of his wand. A complete expression of shock had overtaken his father’s face, watching the snake glide forward. Lucius’s white, stunned face seemed to blur into the dark shapes of the Death Eaters. They all shrank back. But then they surged forward, towards the bed. Ginny scrambled to get up, no longer knowing what she was doing. Draco grabbed her wrist and yanked her across the room, into the bathroom. He moved too quickly for the Death Eaters to react, since most of them were still backing away from the snake, and she allowed him to drag her with him.   
  
“ _Patefacio!_ ” he cried, pointing the wand at the doorknob. The door slammed shut. Dimly, she heard snarls and swearing from the outer room. Showers of green sparks flew from the knob, but it remained still. Draco collapsed against the wall.   
  
“It worked. Can’t believe it did. We’re safe. For awhile, anyway.” Before she could respond, he pulled her towards him with one arm and buried his face in her hair, breathing in long shuddering sighs that were almost like sobs.   
  
“That was the same spell you used against Harry in that dueling club in my first year, wasn’t it?” she asked, because she could not think of anything else to say.   
  
“I suppose Potter told you about that. Yes, it was,” said Draco. He lifted his head. Incredibly, he grinned at her. “Good thing I know a few Dark Arts spells, isn’t it?”  
  
Ginny realized that she was still naked. She pulled a large towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself, tucking it in, avoiding looking at him.  
  
“That wasn’t very well thought out on my part, was it?” he asked her, tapping his wand against his left hand. “That’s not even a real snake, you know…. Wish we could’ve got your wand.”  
  
“You wanted me to have my wand?” Ginny asked stupidly.   
  
“Maybe we could’ve actually beaten them then,” he said.   
  
“You mean… you didn’t mean any of those things you said?”  
  
He shrugged. “I didn’t actually _say_ much of anything, or didn’t you notice? I simply allowed my father to think I was agreeing with him. I knew it was the only way to get my wand back.”  
  
“But what about when you said that I didn’t have anything you hadn’t seen, and that it was a bit late for maidenly modesty?”  
  
“Well, you don’t. And it is, don’t you think?”  
  
“Ooh—“ Her eyes snapped fire at him.   
  
“Hush. D’you really want to spend our last moments arguing, Ginny?”  
  
“Won’t that door hold?” she whispered.   
  
“Not for long,” he said.   
  
“So what now?” she asked.  _Funny, how calm I feel. It’s shock really, I suppose._  
  
“Now’s when I tell you that I’ll love you to my dying day,” said Draco. “Which this may very well be.”  
  
“You—you love me?” Ginny repeated.   
  
“Is there an echo in here?” Draco asked.   
  
“You love me,” she said softly.   
  
“If I don’t have another chance to tell you, I should hate to have lost this one.” Draco picked up one of her hands and stroked the fingers. “Yes. I love you. I never thought I’d really love anyone, but I do love you. Why else would I have done such a mad, perfectly idiotic thing?”  
  
Ginny nodded. “It makes sense. But you seem—awfully calm.”   
  
And suddenly he grinned, that flashing smile that was so heartbreakingly sweet on his narrow, pale face. “Well, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather die with. Can you?”  
  
“No. But—“  
  
“Also,” said Draco, “there’s something else, Ginny. Something you may not have thought of. But I have. If the spell just holds long enough, we might—“   
  
The door splintered open with a tremendous flash of green flame. Ginny turned to face it, feeling some of Draco’s unnatural calm herself. Great clouds of fog and mist blocked the doorway completely. Ginny was sure that when they cleared, she would see the masked faces of Death Eaters. She thought that might be preferable to seeing Lucius Malfoy’s face. But then, she’d probably see that too. _Draco loves me_ , she thought, and fleetingly she wondered if it would be her last thought, after all. Nothing seemed to matter very much in that moment, now that she knew what she knew.  _Although I would like to have told him as well. That’s my only regret, really._ Then the clouds did clear all at once, as magical mist always does.   
  
The face of her brother Ron popped into view, redder than his hair and contorted weirdly with rage. It was a frightening sight.   
  
“I knew it!” he yelled. “I knew it. Look where she is—and where he is—and she’s not wearing, she doesn’t have any-- look what he did to her—I knew this would happen—“  
  
He strode forward as he spoke, arms outstretched, one hand finally seizing Draco around the neck and slamming his head against the wall. With his other hand, Ron grabbed Ginny by the wrist and dragged her up, hurling her towards the other side of the room so that she lay on the floor, half in and half out of the bathroom. Her hastily knotted towel fell off, and he threw her his outer robe without looking at her nakedness.   
  
“Put that on,” he growled. “This minute. Mum!” he called, turning his head. “Don’t come in quite yet! I mean it!”   
  
Too late, Ginny realized just how much danger Draco was in now. “Please, Ron, it’s not what you think!” She tried to wriggle forward and grab at his foot. “Let me explain—what are you doing—“   
  
Ron shook off his sister and advanced to pin Draco against the wall, jabbing his wand into the other boy’s naked chest where he was sprawled on the floor. “I should jam this through your throat,” he snarled. “Give me an excuse and I will. Ginny, will you put on that cloak!”   
  
She struggled to get up, but the breath had been knocked out of her and her legs felt boneless. Draco sat up, shaking his head. Even as Ron held a wand at his throat, his grey eyes went to her. “I don’t give a damn what you do to me,” Draco said coldly, “but if you lay a hand on Ginny again—“  
  
“You’re not in any position to make demands!” blustered Ron. “And how dare you even say her name—you dragged my sister here and forced yourself on her and summoned all the Death Eaters and—“  
  
“Ron, have you gone completely mad?” Ginny demanded. “Of course he didn’t. Draco saved me. If you’d just listen—“  
  
“Enough,” said Harry, coming up behind Ginny and moving past her into the bathroom. He pulled Ron up from his half-kneeling position by the back of the neck. “You can’t do this,” he said quietly. “You know you can’t, Ron. We don’t know enough yet. Come on. We’ve secured all the Death Eaters; we had the element of surprise, no harm’s done. At least…” Harry closed his eyes briefly. “Never mind. Let’s just take him in.”   
  
Ron gave Draco a filthy look. “Cover him up first,” he growled. Harry threw Draco his own cloak.   
  
“Put that on, Malfoy,” he said. “You’re coming with us.”  
  
“What are you going to do with Ginny?” Draco demanded, making no move.   
  
“She’ll be all right,” Harry said coldly. “What do you care?”   
  
”I won’t leave her,” Draco said flatly. “You don’t know anything that’s been going on, Potter, or anything that’s been planned, or you never would have left her either. You don’t have the faintest idea what sort of danger she was in, and still is.”  
  
“I know now.” Harry rubbed his chin wearily. “You think I don’t know how I’ve failed her?”  
  
Draco looked at the other boy, clearly startled.   
  
“We know everything now,” Harry continued. “or some of it, anyway. You’re coming to Dumbledore with us, and you’re going to tell him everything you know.”  
  
Draco nodded. “I will.”  
  
“It’s not your choice to make,” said Ron. “We’ll get it out of you if we have to use Cruciatus and—“  
  
“Ron,” said Harry, shooting his friend a warning glance. “You saw…”  
  
“No loss, I’d say,” muttered Ron.   
  
“Ron…”  
  
Ron subsided, still mumbling darkly.   
  
“I suppose you want this,” Draco said, speaking to Harry. He held out his wand.   
  
Harry took it, and then hesitated. He gave Draco a strange look. It took Ginny a few moments to identify it as one of pity. He tapped his own wand against his palm. “Malfoy,” he said. “I’d rather like to put a temporary Blinding spell on you. It’ll only last ten minutes or so.”  
  
“No,” said Draco. “Whatever waits for me now, I want to see it.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “As you like.”   
  
They frog-marched Draco out of the room, one boy holding each arm in a death grip, but he struggled to get away from them when they passed Ginny. Ron snarled something incoherent. “Potter,” Draco finally said, not looking at Harry. “Let me say goodbye to her.”  
  
“That’s the _last_ thing you’re ever going to say to her—“ began Ron.   
  
“Make it fast, Malfoy,” Harry said.   
  
Draco turned to Ginny, his eyes desperate. She wanted to rush forward and grab him and never let him go again, but something in her brother’s face stopped her; maybe it would only make the whole situation that much worse. For Draco’s sake, she had to stay calm, she realized.   
  
“This had to come,” said Draco urgently. “We’ll see each other again—“  
  
“The fuck you will,” interrupted Ron.   
  
Draco struggled to touch her, but Ron and Harry between them held him fast. “Come to me,” he said. “Come to me soon, Ginny.”  
  
Then the door closed behind the three of them, and Draco was gone.   
  
When Molly Weasley bustled into the bathroom a few moments later, easy tears spilling down her weather-beaten, comfortable face, Ginny would not speak to her. She stiffened in her mother’s arms when Molly tried to hug her daughter. At last, her mother retreated, her brown eyes hurt and bewildered. Tonks came in then, and helped Ginny wrap herself in Ron’s robe, and asked softly if she was all right. She was quick and efficient, with the sort of steely efficiency that always did seem to lurk just below her cheerful, goofy surface, and Ginny was grateful.   
  
“Where are my own clothes?” she asked.   
  
“They had to be taken away, Ginny,” said Tonks, her face sober. “As evidence.”  
  
“As—evidence? For what?”  
  
The other woman did not answer.   
  
Tonks and Emmeline Vance helped Ginny out into the hotel corridor. She still would not let her mother touch her. She could barely walk, and she wondered if that was an aftereffect of everything she had done with Draco, or if it was shock. Glancing around the room, Ginny decided that it had to be shock. The neat little rooms had been torn apart, the dressing table mirror smashed, the furniture tipped over or broken. Nearly all of the Death Eaters were gone; she guessed that they had been overcome by additional Aurors, who had then Apparated with them back to the Ministry. But she saw Elphias Doge and Kingsley Shacklebolt standing together over a black-clad figure that lay motionless on the floor, discussing something in whispers. She saw the figure’s face out of the corner of her eye as she passed it, although Tonks tried to grab Ginny’s head and turn it away.

For a heart-stopping instant, she thought it was Draco, lying dead. But it was not; the hair was longer, the body taller, and the face stamped with something quite different for all its similarity. An additional twenty-five years of life, of course, but also something more. Ginny realized that it must be the sum of all the choices that Lucius Malfoy had ever made and that Draco had not. Then she realized that Draco had been taken out this same way, and he had seen his father lying motionless on the floor. At that, she felt the only pang of sorrow that anyone was likely to ever feel for the death of Lucius Malfoy.   
  
She turned her head away. The room began to blur. Her mother walked by her side, and her sorrowful face started to run together with the memory of Lucius Malfoy’s dead one. “Ginny!” That was her mother’s voice, but it seemed to be coming from a long way away. “Ginny—“  
  
“She can’t take any more,” said Tonks, and then the world slipped into blackness.   
  
She floated in an emotionless space, beyond love and grief, where everything was a very soft grey. She smiled contentedly _. Am I dead? Well, if I am, I suppose this isn’t so bad. Except that I’d like to see Draco again. Yes, I would. Very much._ But she couldn’t be sure where she was. A tall, dark man with spiky black hair and fathomless black eyes walked beside her. His long dark cloak seemed to move in a wind that Ginny could not feel.   
  
“Am I dead?” she asked him. It seemed the most natural question in the world to ask. And there was, of course, nothing strange about the fact that he was there to answer her.   
  
“No,” he said. “You are not in my sister’s realm, little mortal, but in mine.”  
  
“Who is your sister?” she asked, feeling oddly as if she ought to know.   
  
“She is the Lady Death.”  
  
“You’re the Lord of Dreams, aren’t you? One of the Endless?” she asked.   
  
He inclined his head, and she saw that his eyes seemed to have stars in their depths. “I am,” he said.   
  
“So this is a dream, then.”  
  
“Do you wish to awake?” he asked. Ginny wondered why he hadn’t answered her question directly.   
  
“Well, I don’t know,” she said uneasily. “Could I ask you a question first?”  
  
Something like a smile touched his lips. “What else is it the lot of mortals to do?”  
  
“Does that mean I can ask it, or not?”  
  
“It is not my place to permit or forbid such a thing,” said Dream.   
  
That doesn’t sound promising, somehow. “Is Draco Malfoy all right?”  
  
“That I cannot tell you,” said Dream. “Immortals will answer three questions, but only three. And that I have done.”  
  
“Wh—what?” said Ginny, her voice beginning to rise in panic. “But, wait! I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have wasted my questions on such stupid things if I’d known! I—“  
  
“But I can grant you one wish,” said Dream, as if he had not heard her. “That is permitted.”   
  
“Then I don’t want to wake up! Not just yet. Let me stay in the dream for a bit longer. Let me figure out—“  
  
The Immortal raised his hand to her then, and she saw that its dead-white palm was perfectly smooth. There was not even a hint of a line. He passed it over her face without a word.   
  
She looked up at him desperately, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Dumbledore was standing somewhere in the grey darkness.   
  
“Wait—“ Ginny began.   
  
Her eyes opened with the plea still on her lips.   
  
Slowly, she sat up, wincing at her sore muscles and the cotton-dry feel of her mouth and throat. She looked down at herself, her brows knitting in confusion. She was dressed in a white cotton nightgown that wasn’t hers. The bed was unfamiliar, too _. Or is it? I’ve seen this before. And it was at Hogwarts_. She turned her head to take in the rows of little beds with the white sheets hung as dividers between them and the vast, echoing room. I’m in the infirmary. She shook her head wearily. So Lord Morpheus hadn’t granted her request, assuming that the entire thing hadn’t been just a dream, and nothing more. But somehow she didn’t think so. She had studied magic long enough to sense the presence of one of the Endless. _You just can’t trust Immortals these days,_ she thought. _But Dumbledore; why was he there? Or was that part only a dream?_ _  
_  
Ginny lay back in bed with a sigh, and in that movement she saw someone out of the corner of her eye who looked like a dream-version of the older sister she had never had, all long red hair and bright brown eyes. For an instant, she thought of the woman whom Draco had said was his first lover, the one named Marie-France who had mysteriously disappeared. Then she blinked, and recognized Tonks. Her hair was long and red today.   
  
“You’re awake!” Tonks said delightedly.   
  
“Yes, I suppose I am…” Ginny shook her head, still feeling very disoriented. “We’re in the Hogwarts Infirmary, right?”  
  
“Got it in one! I knew you’d be all right.” Tonks winked, then placed a hand on Ginny’s arm when she tried to get up. “I didn’t say you could go gallivanting about just yet, you know.”  
  
“But I have to know what’s happened,” Ginny said. “I have to find Draco. What’s happened to him? Where is he? They haven’t—they haven’t—“  
  
“Shhh, shhh.” Tonks pushed Ginny back down to the bed with very little trouble.   
  
_I’m weaker than I thought_ , Ginny realized. _Or she’s stronger than I thought. Or both, most likely._ “Tell me, Tonks,” she said pleadingly.   
  
“Draco Malfoy’s perfectly all right. He was questioned by Moody all night, and as I didn’t see any dead bodies fall out of the room, I think it’s safe to say the answers were satisfactory. And he’s been in with Dumbledore all morning.”  
  
“How long have I been here?” Ginny’s stomach rumbled, as if in reply.   
  
“About twenty-four hours.”  
  
“Why did I sleep so long? Was it just shock, or was there something—“  
  
“Well…” Tonks twisted her fingers together. “You were in a magical trance for most of that time, Ginny. Madam Pomfrey wanted to give you time to heal. And also she wanted to, er… perform an examination, and she thought that it would better to do it while you weren’t awake yet.”  
  
“What sort of… _oh_.” The look on Tonks’s face was answer enough. “You mean they thought—but why didn’t they just wait until I woke up and then ask me?”  
  
“Your mother was very afraid for you, Ginny,” Tonks said in a quiet tone of voice. “Because of what Ron told her, she believed that Malfoy had… well, you know.”  
  
“He didn’t! Well, I mean, he did, but it’s not what she thinks, I swear—“ She turned to Tonks suddenly, grasping the other woman’s arm. “Please, Tonks—I have to tell them, if they think that Draco kidnapped and raped me or something, it’s just not true—he didn’t do anything to me. I mean—“ she blushed. “Nothing that I didn’t want. I can’t tell my mother that. But you know, don’t you, Tonks? You understand?”  
  
Tonks nodded. “Yeah. I do.”  
  
Ginny looked at herself in the little standing mirror on the bedside table. She was pale and drawn, her eyes enormous. I look like a frightened deer. “Is that really what everybody thinks?” she asked.   
  
“Some people do, some don’t,” said Tonks. “I never did.” When Ginny struggled to sit up, she added, “Don’t. I don’t think you’re quite strong enough yet.”  
  
“I’m not,” Ginny admitted. She doubted she would have admitted that to anyone besides Tonks. “But, Draco—“  
  
“Shh. Nobody’s going to do anything to him. You should sleep some more, Gin.”   
  
“I can’t until I know a bit more about what’s going on,” Ginny argued. “All I’ll do is worry and think, and it’ll keep me awake.”  
  
Tonks looked at Ginny, her eyes searching and kind. “All right. Luna Lovegood showed up at Hogwarts just before noon, along with Millicent Bulstrode. They announced that Pansy Parkinson wanted to tell Dumbledore everything she knew.”  
  
“Luna’s lost it,” Ginny said flatly. But even as she said the words, she remembered what she had seen at Madame Malkin’s robe shop.   
  
“Yes, well, that’s what everyone else thought too. Only thing was, it turned out that they had Pansy with them. And Pansy really did tell Dumbledore what she knew about the Death Eaters’ plans. So we knew that we had to find Draco Malfoy. Fast. And where he was, you’d likely be, too.” A hint of iron entered her voice. “George told your mother some cockatrice and bull story about you and Harry buying special Christmas presents, and that’s why you weren’t at the Burrow for Christmas Eve. So nobody even thought of looking for you until today. I’m sorry, Ginny.“  
  
“Don’t be,” Ginny said quietly. She said nothing more, but she felt that Tonks understood.   
  
“That’s all I know.” Tonks gave a long sigh, picked up a brush on the little bedside table, and ran it through Ginny’s hair. Ginny lay back and closed her eyes. Questions still thrummed through her mind, but exhaustion was beginning to roll over her again.   
  
“Your mother was here earlier, Gin,” Tonks said. “She’s talking with Dumbledore, but she’ll come back.”  
  
Ginny didn’t answer.   
  
“You have such lovely hair, Ginny. I can’t ever seem to get mine quite this colour. It always comes out too dark, like a tomato… “   
  
The brush ran rhythmically through her hair, smoothing all the tangles. Ginny tried to think of what to ask next. She was so tired, so very tired… “Draco’s your cousin, isn’t he?” she asked, opening her eyes just a crack.   
  
Tonks nodded.   
  
“Did you ever know him? When he was a child, maybe?”  
  
“Not really. I only saw him once, as a baby.”  
  
“Really?” asked Ginny, her eyes closing again. The feel of Tonks brushing her hair was a good one. It reminded her of what her mother had used to do when she was a child. Tears sprang to her eyes. She firmly repressed them. “How’d that happen, Tonks?”  
  
Tonks sighed. “My mother and his are sisters. You know that. Not that dear Auntie Narcissa talks to us now… but she came to see my mother once. Only once. I was about thirteen years old, I suppose. She came in disguise, and she brought her baby for my mother to see. I suppose he was about three years old then… whiny little fretful thing… but Draco was such a pretty baby. There was something about him, you know. I just wanted to make him smile…” Her voice became wistful. “They never came again. I heard later that Lucius Malfoy found out, and that was that. I felt sorry for Aunt Narcissa then. Still do.” She gave Ginny’s hair one last crackling brush and stood up.   
  
“Sleep just a bit more, Ginny. It’s going to be all right. I promise. When you wake up, you’ll see Draco again.”  
  
“Will I?” Ginny asked.   
  
“I think you will.” Tonks squeezed her hand.   
  
Madame Pomfrey bustled up to the bed wearing her customary frilly white apron, a bottle of some dark liquid in one hand. “Now, you’re not to tire her,” she firmly told Tonks.   
  
“Madame Pomfrey, I have to tell you—“ Ginny began.   
  
“You’re to drink all of this, dear,” the mediwitch said in kindly fashion, pouring the contents of the bottle into a small glass.   
  
“But listen, listen—“ protested Ginny, even as the glass was raised to her lips. She swallowed and sputtered.   
  
Madame Pomfrey smoothed the hair back from Ginny’s forehead. “Sleep’s the best thing for you just now,” she said, her voice deep with sympathy.   
  
“But I really do have to tell you—“  
  
“There’ll be plenty of time later. Lie back down now. Poor lamb, poor lamb…”  
  
“I am not a poor lamb!” Ginny said indignantly. “Nothing happened to me—not like you think!”  
  
Madame Pomfrey turned away and tried to exchange a significant look with Tonks. “The tests were conclusive, you know. Malfoy was definitely the one; they were sure about that as well,” she whispered. Ginny rolled her eyes. Madame Pomfrey was beginning to go a little deaf, and was too vain to admit it. “To treat such a sweet child that way,” she continued. “Azkaban’s too good for—“  
  
Ginny blushed to the very roots of her red hair, torn between horror and an awful desire to laugh. “I am not a child,” she said with as much dignity as she could, considering that she could feel the sleeping potion about to hit her with the force of the Hogwarts train. “And I had sex with Draco Malfoy because I wanted to!”  
  
Sleep did hit her then, and she slipped back into darkness. The last thing she heard was Tonks’s snort of suppressed laughter.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N:  
Thanks to all readers, kudo-ers, and reviewers! :)  
  


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The sound of water dripping woke Ginny very slowly. She lay with her eyes closed, not wanting to open them to the outside world just yet. She distinctly remembered telling Madam Pomfrey that she’d had sex with Draco Malfoy, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to face a reality that included that fact just yet. A cool, wet washcloth stroked her forehead, followed by cool hands. Without seeing a face or hearing a voice, Ginny knew who they belonged to. She sighed inwardly. Anger was stabbing through her, and the resentment she had been feeling for years by now. But there was also a strange, despondent, inexplicable sense of loss. She opened her eyes to see her mother’s face, bending over her.   
  
Ginny expected to hear a flood of recriminations. But Molly Weasley didn’t speak. She ran the washcloth over Ginny’s skin, moving down to her neck.   
  
“What time is it, Mum?” Ginny finally asked. The silence was making her a bit nervous.   
  
“Almost noon of Boxing Day.” She dipped the washcloth back in the water. “Sit up, Ginny, so that I can reach the back of your ears.”   
  
Ginny obeyed, and even that slight movement made her realize just how weak she still really was.  _From all the shock, I suppose. Just the shock of everything that happened…_ No wonder; her entire life seemed to have changed in the past two days. Her mother still wasn’t talking, which couldn’t have been further from the way she normally handled any disagreement. Ginny let her mind run over recent events. She had given up Harry and let go of her dreams of him entirely, at last, although she suspected that she would never really be free of him. He had entwined his fate with hers, and she now saw that completely, as she had not done before. But that very fact meant that he could never be to her what she had once so wanted him to be. She had chosen her first lover, and he had not been Harry. Instead, she had taken his worst enemy to her bed, the boy whose entire family had always had blood enmity with hers. Draco Malfoy. The fact seemed impossible to believe or to absorb. She gave a deep sigh.   
  
“Now the back o your neck,” said her mother.   
  
Ginny sat up a bit further and winced. The movement made her feel the soreness between her legs as she had not felt it before. She remembered the long, slow, hot bath at the Leaky Cauldron, when Draco had washed away the blood on her thighs with a soft cloth and a gentle touch. His hands had been careful and almost reverent as he soothed her where he had hurt her.  _And where he made me feel pleasure I never even imagined…_ A wave of warm weakness went all through her, and she struggled furiously not to blush. She cleared her throat.   
  
“Mum,” she said. “When does Dumbledore want to see me?”  
  
“Tomorrow,” said her mother in the same toneless voice. “They’re still questioning—other people. And you need the extra rest.” Her lips tightened. It was the first characteristic gesture that Ginny had seen her mother make.   
  
“Oh,” Ginny said uncertainly. “I suppose I do, but what about—“  
  
“Ginny.” Her mother’s voice was oddly heavy and sad, as if she knew what her daughter planned to ask next and had cut her off because she could not bear to hear it. “How are you feeling now? Are you all right?” she finally added.   
  
“Yes, Mum. I’m tired, that’s all. Worn out. It’s no more than that.”  
  
Molly Weasley bent her head so that the light on the bedside table struck it at a different angle than it had done before. Ginny saw the strands of grey around her mother’s ears, and the fine lines around her brown eyes. _Why, she’s old_ , she thought. _Or at least, not young. Funny that I never thought of her before as either old or young. She was just Mum…_ _  
_  
“So you’re all right?”  
  
“You already asked me that, Mum.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, I did. And you answered me, didn’t you?” Molly Weasley’s voice had begun to take on a tone that Ginny remembered all too well.   
  
“Have you talked to Madam Pomfrey, Mum?” Ginny asked, trying hard to keep her voice from snapping.  
  
“Of course I have.”  
  
“Well, what did she say? She examined me, after all.”  
  
Molly made a helpless gesture with her hands. “Er… that you were… that you’d been…”  
  
“Raped? Is that what she thinks? It is, isn’t it?”  
  
Her mother’s silence was answer enough.   
  
“Listen to me, Mum,” Ginny said, her voice steady. “Please. Please, for once, just listen to me! That’s not what happened at all. I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t—forced—“ The blush rose in her cheeks now. Ginny could feel its stinging heat.  _I wish I was a million leagues away. I wish I didn’t have to say these things, not to my mother. But I do._  
  
“Fred and George never should have allowed you to stay out of their sight,” her mother said, as if she hadn’t heard what Ginny had said. The familiar bossy tone was beginning to return to her voice. “If you’d only been safe in their flat every night, this never would have—“   
  
“We would just have found some other place, Draco and I,” Ginny continued doggedly, looking into her lap.   
  
“But, surely—“  
  
“What happened to me, Mum, in my rooms at the Leaky Cauldron—it happened because I wanted it.” Ginny looked up. “I asked Draco to do what he did. And I knew what I was doing when I chose to do it.”  
  
Molly gave a gasp, very small but perfectly audible in the silent and almost empty hospital wing. Too late, Ginny realized that perhaps she had said the worst thing of all to her mother, without meaning to.   
  
“But—Harry—“ Molly said piteously.   
  
“I didn’t want Harry,” Ginny said. “I didn’t want anything about your plans for me, Mum. You and Dumbledore shouldn’t have made them.”  
  
They were both silent for a long time. Molly continued to stroke Ginny’s hair, her hand running over and over the gleaming strands. From the angle where she sat, Ginny could see it in the bedside mirror. Mum’s hands always looked so young _. But there are the beginnings of age spots on them now_ , Ginny thought, her mind detached, almost clinical. _And the fingers are growing thinner. They almost look a bit twisted. If she were a Muggle, I suppose she would already have… what do they call it, arthritis… Grandma got it early too, didn’t she…_ Then she remembered Molly Weasley brushing her hair when she was a tiny child, and how she had loved to sit on her parents’ bed while her mother did it. She had looked so young and pretty then. But it really wasn’t all that long ago.  _What happened between then and now? What burdens have you carried, Mum?_  
  
When her mother spoke again, her voice was somehow different—a bit cooler, perhaps, a little stronger and more detached.   
  
“You are very young, my daughter,” she said. “And the young can be so cruel.”  
  
“Don’t you think I was too young to be forced into marriage with Harry, then?” Ginny asked quietly.   
  
“I only wanted the best for you,” said her mother. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Ginevra.”  
  
_Oh-oh. That’s not a good sign at all_ , thought Ginny. _Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon, I suppose..._ _  
_  
“You wanted what you thought was best for the wizarding world, Mother,” she said. “That, I can believe. But, best for me? No. It wouldn’t have been best for me. And anyway it can’t happen now.”  
  
“No, it can’t. You’ve seen to that,” said Molly.   
  
“Yes, I have.” Ginny sat up perfectly straight and looked into her mother’s eyes defiantly. Molly returned the gaze, but her eyes were inscrutable, like blank brown buttons. A shiver went through Ginny. For a panicked moment, she wanted to break down and cry. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.  _Don’t look at me that way, like I was a stranger, almost an enemy! I’m sorry, Mum! Sorry, sorry, sosorrysorrysorry…_ But then her mother looked away, and the tense moment was broken.  
  
“Well. No use crying over spilt potions, is there?” said Molly, giving her daughter’s hair a final deft pat. “You have a visitor, you know.”   
  
_She didn’t even offer to help me get up_ , Ginny realized after her mother had gone. She could cry now. But she no longer wanted to. She slowly rose to her feet. A gulf had opened between her mother and herself, one that had grown so gradually that she could no longer say how or when it had begun.  _And now it’s led to this…_  
  
Ginny felt a bit dizzy and sick still, but she didn’t particularly want to have to talk to anybody whilst lying flat on her back in pyjamas. She pulled on her dressing gown slowly, remembering the grey hairs she had seen on her mother’s head. The brown spots on her hands. The sagging skin around her chin and cheeks. These signs of age were not inevitable in witches and wizards, who could delay even age itself. But Molly Weasley had not chosen to delay them.   
  
Ginny stopped for a moment as she was tying the gown around her waist and reached up. She massaged the skin above her heart, feeling the shape of her ribs under her fingers. A slow, brooding sensation seemed to be gathering there. _But I couldn’t choose other than what I have done, Mother. I couldn’t choose what would please you, what you had so proudly planned for me. Or is that true? Maybe it isn’t. All right, then. I chose what I chose. And that’s all._ _  
_  
She caught a glimpse of herself in the bedside mirror, and pinched her cheeks to get some colour into them. _I don’t look very pretty. What if it’s Draco? Oh, it couldn’t be, or Mum wouldn’t have sounded so calm. I’m sure she doesn’t want me to see him. I wonder if they’re still questioning him. I wonder how he is, if he’s all right. His father’s dead! I forgot about that. None of the rest of us really care, I suppose, but Lucius Malfoy was his father whatever they thought of each other by the end… I wonder what he thinks, how he feels, how he’s holding up… Oh, Draco…_ A pang of actual pain tugged at her chest, as if someone had pulled on the other end of a silver cord connecting the two of them. He had made her so wholly his that she no longer felt she belonged entirely to herself. They were apart now, but her heart did not understand how this could be.   
  
She heard footsteps approaching the bed. But they were too light, and she knew before she looked up that they couldn’t be Draco’s.   
  
“Hello, Ginny,” said Luna, as calmly as if she visited her haggard-eyed friend in the hospital wing of Hogwarts every day.   
  
Ginny dropped back to sit on the bed. “Hello, Luna,” she sighed.   
  
“You don’t sound very happy to see me,” Luna observed, taking a seat in the chair by the bed. “That’s how everyone always used to sound whenever I showed up at the Saturday night Herbology study group in the Ravenclaw common room this autumn.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” said Ginny, because Luna’s mouth was drooping at the corners a little. “I didn’t mean it that way. Why on earth didn’t they want you in the study group, anyway? You’re good at Herbology, aren’t you?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” said Luna. “But it was an all-girls’ group. By about ten o’clock, they’d always start talking about boys they’d snogged. Then I’d tell them what the boys really said about them behind their backs. That didn’t make me very popular.”  
  
Against her will, Ginny smiled. “There’s such a thing as being too truthful, you know.”  
  
“That’s what I finally figured out,” Luna said sadly. “But it was too late. It was too bad, too, because I would have showed them the Crumple-Horned Snorckack horns I brought back from Norway. They’re loads of fun. I can give you one, if you—“  
  
“Not right now,” said Ginny hurriedly. “It’s good to see you, Luna. Nobody else has visited me yet, except for Mum.”  
  
“I know they haven’t.” Luna folded her legs under her in the large chair and settled herself comfortably.   
  
”How’d you find that out?”  
  
“We’ve been sneaking about the castle and listening at doors,” yelled a loud, cheerful voice from the other side of the room.   
  
Ginny froze. “Is that—“  
  
Millicent Bulstrode popped out from behind a curtained bed and waved.

“What on earth are you doing with her?” Ginny asked Luna.   
  
“Oh, we’re quite good friends now,” Luna said calmly. “Would you like some cold pumpkin juice?”  
  
“Yes, but-- how on earth did that start?” asked Ginny, feeling how dry her throat was for the first time.  
  
“I don’t have any. A few months ago, when I saw her spying on Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley, and she asked me if I was going to stare at her all day. And I said yes, I just might, because she was so pretty.”  
  
“Wait, wait.” Ginny’s head was beginning to spin. “You thought Millicent Bulstrode was pretty—and you told her so? And you don’t have any pumpkin juice?”  
  
“Nope, but Milla does. Hey! Milla! Bring the pitcher over here when you’ve done,” yelled Luna across the room. “Unless you think Pansy will want all of it.”  
  
Ginny sank her head in hands. “Pansy Parkinson’s here?” she mumbled.   
  
“Oh, yes. Across the room. She’s resting a bit. She spent hours talking to Dumbledore, and Milla says she’s just exhausted. I hope there’s enough pumpkin juice. And I do think Milla’s pretty. She’s got such nice hazel eyes, and the way she crinkles up her nose when she—“  
  
Two minutes of talking to Luna was enough to exhaust most people, Ginny decided. She flopped back down on her bed with a sigh.   
  
“Rise and shine!” said a loud, happy voice. Ginny cracked one eye open to see Millicent Bulstrode holding out a big glass of pumpkin juice, an enormous smile on her face.   
  
Ginny looked up at Millicent, and then back down at the glass of juice. “Um… I’m not thirsty, Bulstrode.”  
  
“Hel-lo!” Millicent went through the exaggerated motions of cleaning out her ears. “I heard everything you said, you know. You sounded like you were practically dying of thirst.”  
  
Ginny tried to swallow, but the sides of her throat felt too dry to even come together. _She’s right. But I should hope I’m not thick enough to take anything from--_ _  
  
_“It’s that Slytherin thing, isn’t it?” Millicent asked sadly. “You think I’m sneaky and untrustworthy.”  
  
“Well—“ croaked Ginny. The beads of moisture on the side of the glass glistened enticingly.   
  
“Actually, I am,” the other girl continued. “But only in a good cause. That’s why I’m here at all.”   
  
“And because of Pansy, and the pumpkin juice,” said Luna. “You do have a way with pumpkin juice, Milla. Frosty, delicious, ice-cold--”  
  
_That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. And if it’s poisoned… well, I am in the infirmary already, after all._ Ginny snatched up the glass and drained it dry, giving a long sigh of relief.   
  
“She’s decided to trust you,” Luna said happily.   
  
“I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her!” Ginny glared at the Slytherin girl, thinking as she did that that would be a bit further than it had once been, actually. Millicent’s stay at Dr. Butlin’s Magical Reducing Camp had certainly been a productive one.   
  
“We’ll have to tell her the whole story,” said Millicent. “Or she’ll never believe me, or you.”   
  
“Ginny would believe me. She doesn’t think the same way about me as almost everyone else here does,” said Luna.   
  
“Of course I’d believe you,” said Ginny, thinking guiltily of all the times she had ever made snide comments about Luna’s sanity.  
  
”Yes, but I want you to believe her, too. She knows parts of the story I don’t know.” Luna turned to Millicent. “I already told Ginny about Diagon Alley. But maybe it started on the Quidditch pitch, really, after Blaise Zabini caught you with the entire Hufflepuff team in January, and I happened to be there. I was looking for five-leafed clovers at the time, I think.”  
  
“That’s right,” agreed Millicent. “That was the first time I ever noticed Luna, you know. When Blaise called me a slut, and she slapped him.”  
  
“Of course, you didn’t properly appreciate my sticking up for you at the time,” Luna pointed out.   
  
“True,” said Millicent to Ginny. “I called her a dingbat. But later on, when you were the one who saw that Pansy didn’t like kissing Draco anymore—“  
  
Ginny moaned quietly and put her head in her hands. “This isn’t making any sense at all.”  
  
“All right, all right.” Millicent held up a hand, as if directing broom traffic. “Let me tell the story.”  
  
“That’s probably for the best,” agreed Luna. “I’m not good at telling stories all the way through so that they make lots of sense. You can believe everything she says, Ginny.”  
  
“Hmmph.” Ginny subsided back onto the bed. But in truth, she was curious to hear what Millicent Bulstrode had to say. As dippy as Luna could be, she had a very strong streak of common sense. And if she thought that the Slytherin girl was trustworthy, then she probably was. Ginny had never really disliked and distrusted Millicent the way she did everyone else from that house anyway; she’d always felt that the other girl was only obeying orders from stronger personalities. _And it doesn’t seem like she’s spent much time with other Slytherins in quite a while now… well, except for the boys. In broom closets and Rooms of Requirement, mostly._ _  
_  
“Luna’s my cousin, you know,” said Millicent.   
  
“All the pureblood families are cousins, if it comes to that,” said Ginny.   
  
“Well, that’s true. But then all the Slytherin girls started turning against me last year. You know. After I came back from reducing camp. All I wanted was to have a bit of fun with the boys. But that’s how the nickname got started,” Millicent said. “’School Broom Bulstrode,’ you know. Well, Luna started sticking up for me. I didn’t understand it at first. I didn’t know what a good person she really was.” Millicent blushed slightly. “And then she saw me spying on Draco and Pansy in Hogsmeade that one time, like I said. About six months ago, I think it was.”  
  
“Why were you spying on them?” Ginny asked suspiciously.  
  
Millicent gave her a long, level look from her hazel eyes. “This plan of the Malfoys has been in the works for a long time,” she said quietly. “They didn’t tell anybody at Hogwarts very much. The less we know, the less we can give away, right? Draco was the only one at school who really knew much of anything. But I knew what I was told, and I was ordered to follow Draco and Pansy and see if they were really having all the problems everybody said they were having. They had to bond, you see.”  
  
“Draco told me that,” Ginny said guardedly. “He told me… well, quite a lot.”  
  
“I’m sure he did,” said Millicent, clearly suppressing a grin. “Anyway, my parents were losing interest in the entire thing. They’d never been considered important enough to get much real information or be trusted with the kind of plots the Malfoys and the Zabinis were always hatching, and they didn’t want me caught up in it for no real rewards. So when Dumbledore called me into his office and asked me to find out everything he could for his side, I was more than happy to do it. I was never a very good Slytherin anyway. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff, you know.”  
  
“So that’s really what happened?” asked Ginny.   
  
“Of course it’s really what happened,” said Luna, with a notable lack of her usual dreaminess. “I say it is as well, and you believe me, at least, don’t you, Ginny?”  
  
“Yes,” said Ginny, knowing that she had doubted Luna, feeling a bit ashamed of herself.   
  
“And if I really was a junior Death Eater,” Millicent said cheerfully, “they’d hardly have allowed me in the infirmary, now would they?”  
  
“I suppose not,” said Ginny.   
  
“So now that we know we’re all on the same side,” continued Millicent, “you can quit glaring at me like that, and we’ll all be happy and play nice.”  
  
“But what about—“ Ginny jerked her head towards the curtained bed on the other side of the room. “You know. Pansy Parkinson?”  
  
“Pansy was a bit more difficult,” sighed Millicent. “But the thing is, she got to the point where she really couldn’t stand Draco anymore.”  
  
“She thought she’d go mad if she had to marry him,” added Luna. “That was the final straw.”  
  
“And that’s what she would have had to do, of course,” said Millicent. “So I talked her round a bit—“  
  
“You sat on her until she’d listen to you,” pointed out Luna.   
  
“Yes, well, it’s hard to break old habits. But she hit it off with Luna really well, and I think that made all the difference.”  
  
“Pansy’s pretty too,” Luna said contentedly, her blue eyes misty.   
  
Ginny decided that it was better not to ask. “But how’d you get her to come here and tell Dumbledore everything she knew?” she said instead.   
  
“That was tricky,” said Millicent. “Honestly, I thought she’d bolt right up to the very last minute. But then came that night when Draco wouldn’t have sex with her—“ She stopped when she saw Ginny’s tightened lips. “Well, he wouldn’t,” she continued. “It’s the truth. And she realized that there was nothing left for her to do. She’d get into loads of trouble if she had to go back to Lucius Malfoy and tell him the big plan hadn’t worked out. So she came with us back to Hogwarts, and you know the rest.”  
  
“But I don’t!” exclaimed Ginny. “That’s just the trouble; nobody’s told me almost anything. Where’s Draco?”  
  
The other two girls exchanged glances. “He’s still with Dumbledore,” said Millicent.   
  
Ginny struggled to a sitting position. “Listen to me, both of you. Please. I can’t tell Dumbledore or anyone in the Order about this until Madam Pomfrey lets me out of here, but I know what they think he did to me, and it’s not true. Tell them that it’s not true!” She looked fearfully from Millicent to Luna. “You will, won’t you?”  
  
“If you say it’s not true,” said Luna, “then it’s not. So of course I will.” She glanced up at a sound from the other side of the room. “Pansy wants something,” she said.   
  
“You go over,” said Millicent. Luna seemed to understand, and nodded, scurrying off towards the other bed.   
  
“I already told them that Draco didn’t rape you,” Millicent said quietly.   
  
“You did?” Ginny was startled. “I mean—thank you, I suppose, but how did you know?”  
  
“Because I know him,” said Millicent. “I know what he’s capable of, and what he isn’t, even at his worst. And I know how the past year’s almost destroyed him. He was torn in so many ways by everything his father wanted him to do.”  
  
“And now his—“ Ginny swallowed. “Now Lucius Malfoy’s dead.”  
  
Millicent only nodded. Ginny picked at the edge of the coverlet, lost in her own thoughts. She wondered suddenly if Draco could ever feel the same way about her after what had happened in her rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. Did he blame her for his father’s death, perhaps? If the Aurors hadn’t come to rescue her, Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t have been killed. But then, she herself would have been taken to Malfoy Manor, for the ritual. She shivered at the thought.  
  
“Are you cold?” asked Millicent.   
  
“No…”  
  
“Tired, then? I should leave you alone, I suppose—“  
  
“No—wait—“ Ginny caught at Millicent’s sleeve. “You know Draco pretty well, don’t you?”   
  
Millicent’s nose crinkled up. “Oh, for simply ages. One of the first things I remember in my entire life is him knocking me off my toy broom when we were both about four years old.”  
  
“Do you—“ Ginny hesitated. “Do you think he’s all right?”  
  
Millicent nodded. “I’m sure he is. If I know Draco—and I do—he’ll find a way to land on his feet.”  
  
Ginny squirmed a little. “How well do you know Draco?”  
  
The other girl shrugged. “Very well. And not at all. I dunno; I don’t think anyone’s ever really known him.”  
  
“Oh.” Ginny looked down at her linked hands. “So you know him very well.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“This included the time when everybody was saying all those things about you, didn’t it?”  
  
“Ginny,” Millicent said in her brusque, not unkindly way. “If you want to know if we ever shagged, well, we did. Just once, though.” She stopped at the stricken look on Ginny’s face. “I’ve gone too far, haven’t I?” she said ruefully. “I always seem to do that.”  
  
“You were his girlfriend?” Ginny asked in a rather small voice. “I thought Pansy was.”  
  
Millicent made an impatient movement with her hand. “I was never Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend. Neither was Pansy, if it comes to that. We were friends, Ginny, like I told you. I can call you Ginny, can’t I?”  
  
“Er—I suppose. But really, Millicent, I don’t shag my friends,” said Ginny.   
  
“Well, _I_ generally do. And that’s all it was. Draco was angry at Pansy one afternoon last summer when I was visiting the manor, and he found me out in the stables, and there was a big pile of hay with blankets all over it, and I was more than happy to let him pull me down onto it, and gosh, he _is_ good, isn’t he? Oops. There I go again,” sighed Millicent. “But can I tell you something, Ginny? Good,” the other girl plowed on when Ginny didn’t respond. “Because I’m going to anyway. What we did, Draco and I—it was just a bit of fun, and it never happened again. But whatever happened between the two of you—and you don’t need to tell me all the details unless you’re just dying to tell someone…” Millicent trailed off, a hopeful look on her face.   
  
“I’m not,” Ginny said firmly.   
  
“No, I suppose not. And anyway you’ve only trusted me for ten minutes now. What I was going to say was, Draco’s got to have feelings for you he never had for me, or Pansy, or anybody else. He did something for you that I never would have ever believed he’d do for anyone. The way he felt about his father—“ Millicent stopped abruptly. “It isn’t my place to say.”  
  
“You’ve said enough for one day, I think,” said Ginny dryly.   
  
“I do like to talk,” Millicent admitted. “And really, you shouldn’t pay attention to half of what I say.”  
  
“What about the other half, though?”  
  
“I’m pretty trustworthy,” Millicent said. “And I really do care about Luna, you know?”  
  
“You mean you-- and she— but what about Pansy? No!” Ginny held up a hand. “I don’t want to know. I really don’t, Millicent.”   
  
Millicent grinned. “Then I won’t tell you. You’re not mad at me about Draco, are you?”  
  
Ginny thought it over. “No,” she finally said, remembering all the time she’d spent with Harry long after she’d known that they were wrong for each other. If things had been just a bit different, she might even have slept with him, liking but not loving him, sharing her body out of friendship or obligation or Merlin only knew what.  _So I can’t judge Draco. Or Millicent, I suppose. Maybe not even Pansy Parkinson._  
  
“I’ll let you sleep some more now. When you wake up, I’m sure they’ll want you to see Dumbledore,” said Millicent. “He’s not in his office; did you know that? He’s moved to that clock tower at the edge of the Forbidden Forest for some weird reason. That’s where Draco is too, you know.   
  
“But—“  
  
“Shhh. Nighty-night, now.”   
  
Ginny began to protest; there was so much more she wanted to know, needed to ask, but she felt her eyes drooping already. ”Oh, all right,” she yawned. “And Millicent—when all this is over, you know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. If you keep hanging around with Luna, I mean.”  
  
“Oh, I think you will,” said Millicent, her voice amused. “You can’t get rid of me that easily!”  
  
The last thing Ginny heard was the sound of retreating footsteps. She fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.   
  
************************************************************************  
  
She heard the sound of softly murmuring voices long before she was really awake. For a long time, they seemed only part of a dream. Her eyes slowly opened and she saw that the curtains around the bed on the other side of the room were no longer closed. The shadowy figure of Pansy Parkinson was sitting up in bed and talking to someone that she couldn’t quite see, because the other person was on the far side of the bedside table.   
  
“Oh, I can forgive you anything, I suppose, as long as I don’t have to sleep with you anymore,” Pansy said in a clear voice. It was the first coherent thing Ginny had really heard.   
  
The other person mumbled something in reply.   
  
“As if! I should think you’d had enough girls to stroke that ego of yours. Oh, all right. Of _course_ it's not that you weren't good, Draco."  
  
A soft laugh, then more words that Ginny couldn’t begin to catch.  
  
“She is?”  
  
A murmur of something that seemed to be assent.   
  
“Really?” said Pansy. Her voice was softer now. “Well. Who would’ve thought?”  
  
More mumbling.   
  
“I know that’s what you came here for. Millicent might be as thick as she looks, but I’m not. You’ll get in loads of trouble in anybody finds out, you know. Is it really worth--”  
  
A rather hurt-sounding mumble that turned up at its end.   
  
“No,” said Pansy. “I won’t tell anyone.” She reached up and pulled the curtains closed again.   
  
Ginny shut her eyes hurriedly at the sound of footsteps. They came closer and closer, finally stopping at the side of her bed. Then, silence.   
  
It was Draco. She knew it by the sound of his breathing, or the restless way he kept shifting from foot to foot, or maybe by the disturbance of the air around her bed, as if a fresh keen wind had blown in— _oh, what does it matter how I know? I know._ She opened one eye just the tiniest bit, and quickly shut it again. The brief glimpse of Draco was imprinted so strongly on her mind that she knew nothing could ever remove it again. He looked desperately tired, almost ill, and she wondered if he’d been able to sleep.   
  
He continued to stare down at her. Ginny wasn’t entirely sure, herself, why she didn’t say anything to him. Her whole body yearned towards him so desperately that the sensation was almost literally painful, but she pretended to be asleep, taking care to keep her breathing light and even. The silence stretched on and on. She wondered briefly if she was awake, even now, or if her vision of Draco was only a dream.   
  
Then she heard a soft rustling, and felt the warmth of his face only inches from hers. _Why don’t I say something?_ she wondered _. But I can’t. Not until—until he says something to me._ _  
_  
Draco said nothing. But he pressed a light kiss to her forehead, and the warmth of his lips rushed all through her. “You can’t hear me, can you?” he whispered, his voice no louder than a sigh. “I suppose they gave you a sleeping potion. I don’t want to wake you, if you can sleep…I only want to tell you…”  
  
Wild horses couldn’t have dragged a word out of Ginny after that. She struggled to keep her breathing even, so that he wouldn’t suspect he was wrong.   
  
She heard the bed creak just the slightest bit as Draco slipped next to her. Then she felt the feverish warmth of his arms around her, and his chest pressing against her back through the cotton nightgown.  
  
“I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “Pansy’s right about that.” He pushed his head forward until it almost rested on her shoulder, but not quite.   
  
“But I can’t sleep without you,” Draco continued in a low whisper. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I want to sleep. Just for a few hours. Nothing more. Then I’ll leave. You would let me, wouldn’t you, Ginny, if you could hear me?”  
  
She didn’t nod, and she didn’t answer him in words. But she answered with her body, because she couldn’t help doing that. He gave a soft sigh when she relaxed against him and her muscles grew pliant and welcoming against his. His arm went around her shoulder, and she felt her skin tingle even from this simple contact. He turned her so that they lay face to face.   
  
“I knew you would…” Draco said. Before he had quite finished the sentence, he was asleep. Ginny opened her eyes and looked at him once she was sure of it, because she couldn’t help doing that, either. There was a faint smile on his sleeping face. It was the last thing she saw before sleep claimed her as well.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks to all readers, kudo-ers, and reviewers!  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
  
When Ginny opened her eyes in the morning, the other side of the bed was empty. She felt the pillow. It was cold. There was a slight indentation in it where a head might have lain, but she couldn’t be sure. She got up and checked the bed carefully. There was no sign at all that anyone had been there. She sighed. _I don’t even know if Draco was really here, then._ But perhaps… perhaps she would see him today, or at least learn more about how he was when she saw Dumbledore.   
  
Madam Pomfrey was clanging together bedpans on the other side of the infirmary with unnecessary vigor and many sniffs. Ginny ignored her and ate the steaming breakfast of oat stirabout, rashers, and eggs that appeared on a tray on the bedside table. Then she dressed. She was still a bit shaky, but her appetite had returned. She felt steel-strong and even hopeful. She washed herself and dressed in green robes, and then sat on the bed and combed out her long hair with brisk, efficient strokes. Her head snapped up sharply at the sound of footsteps coming towards her end of the long room.   
  
“George!” she said joyfully.   
  
“’Lo, Gin. You look great.” Her older brother chucked her under the chin. “I thought you were supposed to be sick.”  
  
“I was exhausted, that was all. I sort of collapsed, I think. But I’m better now.” Ginny bit her lip, wondering how to ask what she most wanted to know.   
  
“Ready to see Dumbledore?” George asked.   
  
Ginny leaped to her feet. “Oh yes, yes!   
  
“I thought you would be.” George grinned and helped her put on outer robes, hat, scarf, and gloves.   
  
“Where’s everyone else?” asked Ginny, tucking the ends of the scarf into the collar of her long cloak.   
  
“Bill and Charlie are in an Order meeting along with Mum and Dad, and so’s Fred—he managed to talk his way in somehow. So there’s only yours truly.” George held out his arm for his sister with a flourish.   
  
“But what about Ron?”   
  
George didn’t reply, but made an odd tugging motion with his left arm. Ginny wondered at that but said nothing. Together, they walked out of the infirmary.  
  
“Why’d you come, George? Did they send you?” she asked as they walked down the sloping hill that led down to Hagrid’s hut and the fields just beyond.  
  
“Good to see you, too, Gin.” George pulled on one of her braids where it peeped out beneath the hat.   
  
“I didn’t mean that!” She cuffed her brother’s arm lightly. “I’m so glad to see you, George.”  
  
“Likewise, sis. But you did need someone to bring you. Nobody’s allowed to walk around alone now; it’s too dangerous. And anyway you were in the infirmary for two days.” His voice grew serious. “Are you all right, Gin?”  
  
“I’m fine.”   
  
“Are you sure? Er…after everything that happened, I mean…”  
  
They negotiated the steepest part of the hill then, and Ginny was glad. It gave her a chance to turn her reddening face away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, George,” she said, once they were on more level ground.   
  
“Gin, you have to tell me one thing. Just one. And then I promise I’ll never ask about it again,” George persisted.  
  
Ginny groaned inwardly.   
  
“When I let Malfoy in and then sent you off with him, did I make the worst mistake of my life?”  
  
She stopped. They were on the flat fields just outside Hagrid’s hut. “No, George,” she said firmly. “I know what all of you thought Draco did to me, but it’s just not true.”  
  
Her brother’s face had turned an odd shade of bright red. “So, er, um, he didn’t…?”  
  
She sighed. “Well, not the way you think. Nothing happened that I didn’t want to—“  
  
An odd scuffling sound came from thin air at George’s left side. He glared at it. “That’s enough,” he said. “What did I tell you?”  
  
“What?” Ginny asked, confused. “You didn’t tell me anything.”  
  
“Never mind,” said George, turning back to her hurriedly. “I don’t need to hear any more. I really don’t.”  
  
“Well, you can tell me something, then. I heard you told Mum that I wasn’t going to be home on Christmas Eve.”  
  
George nodded.   
  
“Then how did the Order know to come and find us when they did?”  
  
George grinned. “Gin, think about it for a moment. Who are you talking to?”  
  
“You—I think.”  
  
“And who am I?”  
  
As if it had happened long, long ago instead of three days before, Ginny remembered when her brother had asked Draco the same question. She smiled slightly but did not reply.   
  
“Half of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, that’s who. Come round this way.” George led his sister behind Hagrid’s hut and across a field of tall dried grass, gone dead and brown in winter. The snow crunched under their feet as they continued walking.   
  
“Fred and I set up wards around your rooms at the Leaky Cauldron before you went there to stay,” he explained. “Mum insisted on it.”  
  
“Mum? Oh…” Ginny did not know how to feel after hearing that, or rather, she thought, her feelings were very complicated.   
  
“She’ll come round, you know,” said George.   
  
“I know that she doesn’t like Draco,” Ginny mumbled.   
  
“Could you reasonably expect her to? Could you expect that from any of us?” George’s voice sharpened. “I don’t say that I like him, if it comes to that.”  
  
“But then—“ Ginny groped for a way to ask what she wanted to ask, but nothing graceful came to mind. She tried again. “Why—“  
  
“I want you happy,” George said simply. “We all do, Gin.”  
  
She kicked at a rock. “But could anyone else in the family have got past how much you’ve…we’ve… always hated all the Malfoys?”  
  
“I doubt it. Fred was talking about invoking an ancient law that would’ve allowed us to shave off Malfoy’s skin millimetre by millimetre with a dragon’s tooth—We’re not actually going to do it,” George added hurriedly.   
  
Ginny looked down at the snow for awhile, and they kept walking. “So why could you do what you did?” she asked.   
  
George gave a long, deep sigh. “He makes you happy. And I could see it.”  
  
“You’re right. I-- I don’t really know how to thank you,” Ginny said awkwardly.   
  
“You can thank me best by not telling me any of the details. Anyway… they were good wards, the ones we put up. Although they really couldn’t stand up to the likes of Lucius Malfoy. But we had a backup system as well. If anyone who intended to harm you managed to get past them and into your rooms, an alarm system would go off. First at the shop, and then at the Burrow.”  
  
“And that’s what happened. And then you knew,” Ginny said slowly, remembering what Draco had said just before the bathroom door had opened to reveal Ron and Harry, two days earlier. _There’s something else, Ginny. Something you may not have thought of. But I have._ _  
_  
_Draco knew_ , she realized.   
  
They stopped at the base of the tower. She shivered as she looked up its sloping sides, made of weathered granite blocks. It squatted in a field abutting the Forbidden Forest like some sort of sinister animal, crouching, ready to spring.   
  
“Are you cold, Gin?” George asked.   
  
“No.” She watched her brother fish a ring of keys out of his pocket and extract a curious twelve-sided one. He fit it into the lock, twisting it in several different directions until the door swung open. He gestured her inside.   
  
“Go on, Ginny. Dumbledore’s waiting.”  
  
Her brows knitted together into a frown. “You can’t go back on your own, though.”  
  
“Oh, I’ll be all right.”  
  
“You can’t,” she persisted. “You said yourself that it’s too dangerous.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. Don’t you want to see Dumbledore? And Malfoy’s still up there as well—“ George’s words were cut short by a furious snort that seemed to come from nowhere. He gave his left hand a vicious shake. “What did I say you were going to have to do if you came with me?” he hissed.   
  
“Who are you talking to?” Ginny finally asked, curiousity getting the better of her.   
  
In answer, the air to George’s left shifted and crumpled in upon itself. A shimmering length of material fell to the snowy ground from thin air. Ron looked back at her. He was very red in the face.   
  
Ginny sighed. Somehow, she was not surprised. “Is that Harry’s Invisibility cloak?”  
  
“Nope,” said George. “It’s a new one we’ve been developing. It also works as an Inaudibility Cloak, or at least it’s supposed to. Still some kinks in that part of it.”  
  
She shook her head and started through the door, only to feel a hand on her shoulder. She knew without even looking up that it belonged to Ron. It was both too urgent and too uncertain to be George’s sure, steady hand.   
  
“Gin,” Ron said in a rush. “Don’t go up quite yet. Please. Please don’t.”  
  
“What are you going to do?” she asked without turning round. “Hit me over the head and tie me up in a sack to keep me from seeing Dumbledore, just because Draco Malfoy will be there as well?”  
  
Ron winced at Draco’s name, but he didn’t react anywhere near as violently as she had expected him to do. “Won’t you wait just a moment?” he asked softly. “Please?”  
  
She relented and turned round to look at him. “Make it fast.”  
  
Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and stared down at the ground. “I heard about what happened,” he said in a rush. “I heard that it wasn’t, well, exactly what we all thought at first. Is that true?”  
  
“It’s true,” Ginny said guardedly.   
  
“I suppose that means that Malfoy saved you from his father, doesn’t it?”  
  
“It does.”   
  
“Well. All right, then.” Ron traced a pattern in the snow with his foot.   
  
Ginny fingered one of her braids and wondered how far she might go with her brother now. “Do you understand what that means?” she finally asked. “I want to be—I’m _going_ to be with him, Ron. You’re going to have to accept that. Everyone will have to.”  
  
Ron turned a strange shade of purple at her words. “When I see Draco Malfoy again--“ he choked out.  
  
“You’ll what?” asked Ginny, one hand on the ancient bronze doorknob of the stone door into the tower, ready to flee, or to attack.   
  
Ron gritted his teeth together so loudly that she could hear the grinding sound in the clear, cold air. “I won’t kill him,” he said.   
  
_That’s as good as it’s going to get,_  Ginny realized.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Hey all, if you read the original version on FIA back in the day… the last several chapters were revised. _This_  chapter is when it all starts to seriously change.   
  
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They both stared at the snow for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. Ginny heard footsteps coming towards them at last, and she looked up, expecting to see George come to break the impasse.  _But, wait-- that can’t be right. The sound’s coming from inside the tower, I think._ Harry pushed the door wide and looked down at her. Now that the door had opened, she could see the dank, dark interior of the tower’s bottom level, a winding staircase leading up the very top. He stood on the lowest stone step.   
  
“Come on, Ginny,” Harry said. She looked up at him, wondering what he was thinking.  _Does he hate me now? Could I blame him if he did?_ His brilliantly green eyes were expressionless behind his glasses, and his face looked very pale above his black wool cloak.   
  
“Yeah!” said Ron, sounding happy for the first time. “Go with Harry, Gin. I’ll go back with George.” He pushed her towards the other boy, his face lit with a genuine smile. Harry avoided his friend’s eager eyes, Ginny saw.   
  
The sound of George and Ron’s footsteps retreated in the distance. Harry reached out and pulled the stone door shut, and all sounds from the outside world were cut off as suddenly as if by a knife.   
  
Ginny cleared her throat. “Should we go upstairs?” she asked timidly. Her voice bounced off the stone walls with a hollow sound _. Upstairs… upstairs… upstairs_ came back at her in thready whispers.   
  
“You have to go alone,” said Harry. “And then I have to leave. That’s the way it works.”   
  
“But you can’t go off alone,” said Ginny. “It’s not safe.”  
  
“Tonks’ll come down in a minute. I’ll leave with her.”  
  
“Oh. So, uh—so we’ll just wait, then.”  
  
He gave a brief nod. Then he lapsed into silence, staring at the wall.   
  
_There’s something I want to do,_ thought Ginny. _I shouldn’t, though… I don’t know if he can understand why I want to do it, or what I’ll mean by it…_ _  
_  
She hesitated a few more moments, looking at Harry’s silent, motionless face in profile. _He never shows what he really feels anymore_ , she realized. He had once. She remembered how often he had exploded at everybody during his fifth year. But after that, he kept his emotions under tight rein. Nobody ever really knew what they even were. _He’s like Draco in that way. Strange, that they should be at all alike. Except that Draco finally let me into himself, and Harry never would have done, no matter what I gave to him, or did for him._ And at that thought, what she so wanted to do seemed like the only natural thing left to do.   
  
She reached out and embraced Harry, turning him towards her, feeling his stiff shoulders and arms and chest under her hands. He gave a startled gasp. “Shh,” she said.   
  
“What are you doing?” he asked in a choked voice.   
  
“Harry, don’t hate me,” she whispered. “Please, _please_ don’t hate me.”  
  
He sighed, and his body relaxed just the tiniest bit, although he did not return her embrace. “I could never hate you. Surely you must know that, Ginny.”   
  
She felt a rush of real affection for him then, a feeling that had in it something sisterly, and something almost motherly. “Can I tell you the truth about something?” she asked.   
  
He smiled faintly. “Of course.”  
  
“Perhaps I shouldn’t. But we might not have ever got into this mess in the first place if I’d told you the truth more often.”  
  
“Don’t blame yourself,” Harry said. “What do you want to tell me?”  
  
“Well—“ Ginny began shyly. “It’s just that I really do love you.” She felt him stiffen even further, but doggedly plowed on. “In a way. Not the way I thought, though. Maybe it isn’t even fair to tell you that. But I do.”  
  
His mouth twisted down at one corner. “Don’t worry about it not being fair. I wanted to use that feeling to make you sleep with me and marry me, Ginny. Now that wouldn’t have been fair.”  
  
Against her will, a corner of her own mouth quirked up.   
  
“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “’Harry’s not quite as dense as I always thought he was.’ Well, if things get pounded into my head with a two-by-four often enough, I do learn them, Ginny.”   
  
“Sometimes I do wish that I could’ve loved you that way,” she admitted. _And telling him that probably isn’t fair, either,_ she thought.   
  
“It would’ve been easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “But you don’t.”  
  
_No, I don’t,_ she thought. She truly did care for Harry; she knew that now, and the sort of feeling that she had for him encompassed everything that he was, both good and bad. But that very fact filled it with too much pity to be anything more than a sister’s love. She loved Harry as she might have loved one of her brothers, if there was a sickness in him past all mending.  _And that, at least, I will never tell him._  
  
The sound of a door creaking open drifted down to them from the top of the stairs, and then a very faint strain of crackly-sounding music.   
  
_Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream,  
Make him the sweetest that I’ve ever seen…  
_  
“That sounds like a radio,” said Ginny, confused. “But isn’t it an old Muggle song? I’ve never heard one of those on the Wizarding Wireless.”   
  
“It’s Dumbledore’s Muggle radio,” said Harry absently, his eyes wandering to the top of the stairs, although there was nothing to see yet.   
  
“But Hermione always said those sorts of Muggle things didn’t work on Hogwarts grounds.”  
  
He shrugged. “Ask Dumbledore to explain it. It didn’t quite make sense to me.”   
  
The echoing sound of rather clumsy footsteps started down the tower stairs.   
  
“That must be Tonks,” said Ginny.   
  
“Yeah.” A faint smile lit up Harry’s haunted-looking face. It was a smile more of the eyes than of the lips.   
  
“So—I’ll go now,” she said awkwardly. “I have to see—“ She stopped.   
  
“Dumbledore, I know,” he said. “And then you’ll finally get to see Malfoy, won’t you?”  
  
Silently, she nodded.   
  
“I’m just going to ask you this one thing, and then I’ll never ask you anything about it again.” Harry fidgeted. “When—I mean, the other night, before we showed up in your rooms and—I’m only asking because I care about you, Ginny, er—Look, I know that what we all thought wasn’t true. But I still want to know. Um… was Malfoy good to you?”  
  
She knew exactly what he was talking about, without being told, and she sighed inwardly. Harry had seen her clutching a towel around her naked body while a half-clad Draco Malfoy held her in his arms, and even though he had never really wanted her himself in anything more than a physical way, that was a sight that would always be burned into his brain. Harry cared about her, yes, but he could not help wanting to know if his old rival had succeeded where he himself had failed.   
  
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Now don’t ask me anything more.”  
  
He shuddered. “Don’t worry. I won’t!”   
  
They both fell silent for a moment.   
  
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked.   
  
Harry smiled faintly. “Weird thing to ask me. I would’ve thought the question is, are _you_ going to be all right?”  
  
”Oh, I will be. But what about you, Harry?”  
  
He sighed deeply.   
  
“Yeah. I’m sure I will. It’s just that—“ He did not go on.   
  
“What is it, Harry?”  
  
“I don’t know if there can ever be someone for me, the way there’s someone for you.”  
  
“Oh really, Harry. I’m sure if you tried to find—“  
  
“No, let me finish. I don’t think it can happen, not now anyway. But at least, I wish there was someone who understood. Ginny, Ginny…” He looked directly at her then, and the pain in his brilliantly green eyes was almost too much to bear. “I wish Sirius had lived. I think I could stand all this if only he’d lived.”  
  
She swallowed hard. “I wish he’d lived too.”   
  
“But he didn’t, did he? So we’ve got to go on.”   
  
Tonks clattered down the stairs then, tripping over a worn place in the steps and nearly falling. She reached out for Ginny’s hand, to steady herself.   
  
“We have to hurry,” she said. “Are you all right, Gin? You have to go all the way up by yourself, you know.”   
  
Ginny nodded, aware of Harry’s eyes on both of them. “Is—“ She jerked her head upwards. “Is he there?”  
  
“Yes,” Tonks said quietly. “Go up, Ginny.” She gave her hand a last brief squeeze and turned to Harry.   
  
Ginny stood at the open door, looking after Harry and Tonks as they started across the fields. Their voices drifted back to her for a surprisingly long time.   
  
“So you’re my bodyguard, ay?” asked Harry, smiling mischievously at the other woman. Ginny hadn’t even known that he could smile that way anymore.   
  
“I do what I can,” Tonks said modestly.   
  
“I dunno,” said Harry, reaching up to tweak a stray lock of hair that had fallen out from under her wool cap. “If Voldemort sees your hair, I think he’ll die laughing.”  
  
Ginny shuddered involuntarily when they heard the Dark Lord called by his true name; she couldn’t help it, and most people in her world did the same. But Tonks did not. “Well, you won’t have to kill him then,” she replied casually. Ginny held her breath. _I’d never have said anything like that to Harry! Oh, I wonder what he’ll do now…_ _  
_  
But Harry only threw his head back and laughed heartily. Ginny tried to remember the last time she’d heard him laugh, but she couldn’t.   
  
“I guess that’d save us all a lot of trouble. But, Tonks—“ He reached down and scooped up a double handful of snow. “Who’ll protect you from the dreaded snowmonster?” He flipped up her braid of pink-streaked tomato-red hair and stuffed the snow down the back of her cloak with the lightning-quick reflexes of the Seeker he had been for so long. She shrieked and struggled to get away, but not very hard.   
  
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that!” she howled. “PAY, I tell you!”   
  
Harry began to run, but it was too late. Tonks lobbed several snowballs in a row at him with deadly accuracy. He darted behind a rock in the field past the tower and popped out to hurl more snowballs back at her. She sneaked around one side, behind a tree, and surprised him with an enormous armful of snow right over his head. He spluttered and laughed, trying to shake snow out of his hair, spitting it out of his mouth. She watched him, her lips curved into a faint smile.   
  
“C’mon, Harry,” Tonks finally said. “Let’s go back to the castle and get you into some dry clothes.” She reached out her hand to him, and after an instant’s hesitation, he took it.   
  
“Hot cocoa too?” he asked.   
  
“Hot cocoa too. I’ll race you!”   
  
They ran together across the fields, diminishing into the distance until Ginny could no longer see either of them. Slowly, she shut the door.   
  
It closed with a clang, shutting out the outer world of snow and fresh air. There was only the tower now, dark and dank, and the winding staircase that seemed to lead up to nowhere. _That doesn’t even make any sense,_ Ginny thought nervously. _How could that door make a clanging noise when it’s made out of stone? But it did; I’m sure I heard it. Nothing really feels as if it makes sense here…_ _  
_  
Her footsteps, too, sounded strangely hollow and echoing as she slowly began to trudge up the staircase. The stone stairs felt unimaginably old beneath her feet, as if they’d been worn smooth by all the shoes that had ever walked upon them _. I wonder how old this tower is, anyway…_ She shivered. Then she made the mistake of glancing down.   
  
Ginny could only see the ground right around her feet at all clearly. Beyond a couple of metres away in any direction, everything faded into blackness. She might have been walking through a void. A sickening sensation of vertigo seized her for just a moment. She stood with her eyes closed, breathing hard, willing herself to get back under control. The tower was silent, so silent. Surely she should have been able to hear something, no matter how thick the walls were—the sound of mice scurrying around, or water dripping somewhere?   
  
_Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream  
Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen  
Give him the word that I’m not a rover  
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over…_  
  
Music was still playing scratchily from the radio at the very top of the stairs, and the sound drifted down like a breeze.   
_  
I know what that song is_ , Ginny realized. _I’ve heard it before. Dad used to play it sometimes when he rigged up that Muggle phonograph in the garage._ She followed its strain all the way the winding staircase, her steps more sure now. She knew where it was leading her.   
  
At last, she paused at the landing on the top of the steps. The door was just slightly ajar. She turned away from it and rested her elbows on the ledge of a small window, getting her breath back. It had been a hard climb.   
  
The fields were silent and barren under a moonless sky. A million stars sparkled, looking very cold and far away. Ginny looked into the distance. She could no longer see Harry and Tonks, of course.  _They probably got back to the castle a long time ago. I hope he’ll be all right… but maybe, just maybe, he will. He looked so happy when he was with her. Happier than he ever was with me, that’s for sure!_ She smiled slightly.  _I wonder…_ She remembered when she had first met Tonks. It was when Tonks and Harry had first met as well, at the end of that summer at Twelve Grimmauld Place.   
  
_And that summer was the last time I ever saw Sirius Black. He did come to the Department of Mysteries. But I didn’t even know he’d been there until later on. I’d fainted by then, I think… Harry saw him one last time, but I never did. Oh, Sirius…_  
  
Ginny gave a long, deep, unconscious sigh, and she knew that she needed to wait a few moments before she went in to see Dumbledore. The last golden summer before Sirius Black died was not a time she permitted herself to think about very often. But she thought of it now, because she could not help it.   
  
Then she turned away from the window, giving one last look to the dark fields _. Strange_ , she thought. _I was sure it was almost a full moon tonight. And there aren’t any clouds, so I really should be able to see it. Perhaps it isn’t up yet?_ _  
  
_And then prickles ran up her spine as she kept staring into the utter darkness outside the clock tower. “I left the infirmary right after lunch,” she whispered. “It couldn’t have been later than one o’clock.”   
  
Very slowly, she held up her wristwatch. The hands had stopped moving. She peered closer at the tiny lettering on the watch face to see where they were stuck.   
  
_The time-space continuum is currently out of order,_ she read. _Please try again._    
  
Behind her, the door creaked open. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny could see a spill of warm orange light. The song blared from the radio.   
  
_Mr. Sandman, I’m so alone  
Don’t have nobody to call my own…_  
  
Then the tight, tinny harmonies of the Andrews Sisters faded away into wavering static.   
  
A deep shudder ran up Ginny’s spine. She had a sudden, awful impulse to turn and run down the stairs as fast as she could.  _Would I even be able to get out, though?_ No. There was no going back, and she was going forward. She pivoted on one heel, since all of her muscles seemed to have gone stiff and cold. She forced herself to walk through the door.   
  
The room at the top of the clock tower was tiny, twelve-sided, and seemingly crammed with most of the things from Albus Dumbledore’s office. Several portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses blinked down from the walls, and a large circular desk sat in the middle of the floor. At the far end was a large set of busy iron clockworks. The centre was scattered with parchments, diagrams, quill pens, several spare pointy hats, a gyroscope, and a huge dish of candy. Dumbledore was bent over an old-fashioned Muggle console radio that stood next to the desk, twisting its knobs.   
  
_This is... (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream)  
Serious the craziest  
... d da (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) day da  
Lyrical shots from the glock  
bust bullet holes on the chops I want the number one spot  
With the science, of a giant  
New York defiant, brutal like domestic violence  
My thoughts be sneaky like a crook from Brooklyn  
When you ain't lookin, I take the queen, with the rook then…_  
  
Fawkes had been snoozing on his perch, but he lifted his head from his wing to give the radio a quizzical look. Ginny saw that a silver locket hung around his neck on a chain. The new song faded out. Static crackled through the air like a hissing cat, and then the old station came clear again   
  
_Mr. Sandman, send me a dream,  
Make him the sweetest that I’ve ever seen…_  
  
Finally, Dumbledore straightened up.   
  
“Ah, yes. Do come in, Ginny. I believe I’ve finally got this to work. Curious little thing, isn’t it?”   
  
“Er—yes, sir. I suppose it is.”  
  
“You’ve seen one before, I suppose?”  
  
“Dad used to have one.” She entered the room hesitantly, her mind bursting with everything she wanted to say. She didn’t know where to begin. “Headmaster—“ she began.   
  
“Sit down, sit down. Take the comfy chair.” Dumbledore gestured at an overstuffed papa-san chair tucked in a corner. “Lemon drop?” He offered her the candy dish.   
  
Ginny turned over the brightly coloured candies with slow movements of her fingers, trying to get her thoughts in order. A clock ticked steadily on the wall in time to the beats of the song.   
  
_Give him two lips like roses and clover,  
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over….   
  
Tick, tock, tick, tock…_  
  
She looked more closely at the clock. It had no hands.   
  
“Do you like my eternal timepiece?” Dumbledore asked, handing her a steaming cup. “Tea?”  
  
“I suppose so…” she said slowly. A curious sense of confusion was stealing over her. She sipped at the tea. She seemed to have forgotten not only what she had originally wanted to say, but the entire set of reasons for why she was here. Still, she made an effort.   
  
“I want to tell you everything that happened, sir,” she said, setting down her cup.   
  
He leaned back in his own chair and looked at her. He looked very tired, she saw now, and there seemed to be new lines carved in his weathered face. His eyes were fathomless. “If you like, Ginny,” he said gently.   
  
She told him everything she could remember about the past few weeks, omitting only the intimate details of what had happened between her and Draco. _Nobody else needs to know that!_ But she had the strange feeling that he already knew everything that she was going to say. He was only listening to her speak in order to make her feel satisfied.  
  
“And you do understand that Draco didn’t do anything to me that I, uh, didn’t want, don’t you, sir?” Ginny finally asked. “Only my family all thought—well, they thought he had. Madam Pomfrey too.”  
  
“I know,” said Dumbledore.   
  
“So…” Ginny glanced round her. “Is that all?”  
  
“What do you wish to know, Ginny?”  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. “Where’s Draco?” she whispered.   
  
“You will see him soon,” said Dumbledore, his eyes oddly sad. “That is not what I meant.”  
  
“Is there anything else about what’s happened that I want to know, you mean?”  
  
He nodded. She chewed on her lower lip.   
  
“Yes, Ginny?” he asked.   
  
She wondered what she actually did want to ask him. She felt that there must be something, although she could not quite clarify what it was. “Well—I’m not sure. But even with everything that I’ve already learned, I have the strangest feeling that there’s something more I don’t know about. Something terribly important.”  
  
“Perhaps that is true,” Dumbledore agreed.   
  
“Well…. is there?”  
  
He looked at her. His eyes were still sad. “You wish for greater knowledge, Ginny? That is a dangerous desire indeed.”  
  
“I want to know everything I need to know. Yes.”  
  
Dumbledore sighed deeply and did not answer her. After a few more moments, he rose from his chair and held out his gnarled hand to her.   
  
“Do you see that little door on Fawkes’s other side?” he asked.   
  
“Of course I do. It’s only a few metres away.”  
  
“It may not be as close as you think,” he said. “Open the door, Ginny, and go into the alcove room.”  
  
The door should have been only a few steps away, but the room seemed to be filled with unexpected twists and turns. Once, Ginny found herself wandering down a row of bookshelves. The titles of the books were impossible to read once she actually tried to look at them closely, and they seemed to move around a great deal. Another time, she started down a long corridor that seemed to have no end, turning back only after becoming hopelessly confused. But at last she reached the door and opened it.   
  
It swung inward to reveal a tiny room with a cot, a chair, and a bedside table. The light was very dim. A figure sat motionless on the cot, turned away from her. The head jerked round at the sound of her footsteps. Draco looked up at her.   
  
She hadn’t known exactly what she would say to him, or how he might react, but all of her doubts and fears were swept away the moment she actually saw him. Ginny sank to the cot next to him, and somehow she had taken his feverishly hot hands in hers and his arms were around her and his face was buried in her hair, and she felt his thin, trembling body under her hands.   
  
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he murmured.   
  
“Of course I was going to come to you; how could you think I wouldn’t?” she asked.   
  
“I’m not sure.” He gave a long, shuddering sigh. “I had dreams of you, Ginny, when I could sleep, which wasn’t very often. Then I’d wake, and you weren’t there.”  
  
“I dreamed about you too,” she said. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. When I thought you came to me in the infirmary, Draco—did that really happen?”   
  
He nodded. “I sneaked out last night for a bit. I wasn’t at all sure I’d even be able to get out, or to get back in when I wanted to—but it worked all right. I had to see you, Ginny… but I didn’t think you knew I was there.”   
  
“I knew.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything, then?”  
  
She didn’t answer him, but reached up to smooth his hair with one hand. It felt soft but very thick. “Are you all right, Draco?” she asked.   
  
“Better now, that’s for sure.”   
  
“I mean…” She fumbled for words. “Draco, tell me the truth. Do you blame me? Do you hate me, even a little?”  
  
A devilish smirk spread over his face. “Oh yes. I absolutely loathe you, can’t you tell?” He pushed her back a bit so that they shifted position and she lay on her side on the thin mattress, and he ran his hands along the curve of her hips and waist and breasts. “That’s why I’m feeling you up right now. This cot’s been awful to lie on, but you know, I bet that if I was on top it wouldn’t feel nearly so—“  
  
“I’m serious!” Ginny said, struggling not to smile. “You know what I mean.”  
  
He moved so that he was half-lying on top of her, and his hands crept up to cup her breasts. “I don’t know what you mean at all,” he said, his voice muffled, his mouth moving against her neck. “I don’t care at the moment, to tell the truth. Ginny, you feel so good, so good…”   
  
“I mean about your father,” she said softly.   
  
Draco’s lips stopped moving. He looked up at her, his grey eyes haggard. “I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to remember him.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“I could forget everything, in you,” he said, his voice a little desperate and somehow petulant. ”Won’t you let me?”  
  
She shook her head. He sighed and rolled off her, lying by her side. He was still pressed up against her completely, since the cot was so small. “I—I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I don’t blame you. I never could. Did you know that, Ginny? Even when I blamed the rest of your family, and Potter, and Granger, I never really blamed you.” She did not answer. “Do you believe me?” he asked. His voice was urgent now.  
  
“I believe you,” said Ginny.   
  
“Then don’t ask me anything more.” He held her so tightly then that her ribs ached, but she didn’t ask him to loosen his grip on her. But after a few moments, he shifted back slightly on his own.   
  
“Don’t leave me, Ginny,” he muttered, his face still buried in her neck.   
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“Swear it.”  
  
“I swear.” She hesitated. “You don’t think anybody will try to separate us, do you?”  
  
“I don’t know what might happen anymore. I would’ve known my future if I had stayed with the Death Eaters, Ginny. I cut myself adrift from that sort of sureness. All I know is that I won’t let anyone tear you away from me.” He raised his head and looked at her with the frightened eyes of the boy he was. “You wouldn’t go back to Potter, would you?”  
  
“How can you even ask a question like that?”  
  
“I don’t know. I’m…  _afraid,_ I suppose.” He spoke the word with great effort. “Even though I don’t know why. Just promise me that you won’t do it.”  
  
She stroked his hair back from his hot forehead. “I won’t, Draco. Never.”   
  
The door swung open. Ginny gasped and scrambled up, and she was horrified to see Dumbledore looking down on them. But there was no judgment in his eyes. “Come back to my office, Draco,” he said. “There is a bit more information that I must share with you.  
  
Ginny began to rise as well, but the older man held up his hand. “You don’t mind staying behind, do you?” he asked her.   
  
“Um…” She clutched the thin blanket to her chest, fragments of thought buzzing through her head like a swarm of bees. “No, but—“  
  
“Good,” said Dumbledore.   
  
Draco gave her an uncertain look. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Ginny. Er… won’t I, sir?”  
  
“But of course.” Dumbledore took him by the arm and he closed the little door behind them both.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thanks to all readers, kudo-ers, and reviewers! The plot thickens… 😉  
+++  
  
  
Draco stood across the table from Dumbledore in his little office, carefully keeping a bland face turned towards him, every nerve tingling.   
  
“What did you want to tell me, sir?”   
  
The headmaster put his hands behind his back and paced for a short distance, back and forth. “You have changed, haven’t you, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked, his voice soft.   
  
Draco swallowed. “I have,” he said.   
  
“But I wonder if you have changed enough.”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”   
  
Dumbledore looked at Fawkes. The iridescent edges of the phoenix’s feathers glimmered in the sourceless light of the tower room. Then he turned back to Draco. “Would you work for us and with us, Mr. Malfoy, as you did not do before?” he asked.   
  
“I… well… yes,” answered Draco.  
  
“Would you renounce the Death Eaters and all their works?”  
  
“I would.”  
  
Dumbledore leaned forward, his hands on the table between them. “Why?”  
  
“I… what?”  
  
“Why would you be willing to switch your loyalties so suddenly and thoroughly? Why help us win the war—and a war there will surely be? Why give up the only way of life you have ever truly known?”  
  
Draco felt something tremble beneath the surface of his emotionless face. “That way of life doesn’t exist for me now, not anymore. You must know that.”  
  
“Yes, but why betray it in the first place?” The older man shot him a keen glance. “And tell me the full truth, Mr. Malfoy. Only complete honesty will serve you now.”   
  
He was lanced by that sudden gaze, spitted through and through without warning. Under Dumbledore’s burning eyes, he could not lie. “For Ginny Weasley,” he said.   
  
“Ah. So you’ve changed all of your choices for her sake, then?”  
  
Draco did not trust himself to do more than nod. He wished fiercely that he were very far away. He didn’t particularly care where it was, as long as Ginny came with him.  _But not here. I don’t want to be standing in this room anymore; I don’t want Dumbledore’s eyes on me like that for one quarter of a second longer._  
  
“And you do want to continue your… er, relationship with her,” said Dumbledore.  
  
He gripped the underside of the table, feeling his legs trembling.  _What the hell is this all about? Dumbledore already knew that; he had to know. He caught us lying in a bed together, for Merlin’s sake. Is this some sort of test?_ “Yes,” he said tightly. “Very much.”  
  
“Very much,” repeated Dumbledore. “I ought to have seen all of this from the beginning. I wonder if perhaps I did.”   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Draco. “Sir, may I leave?”  
  
“No.” He sighed. “What a pity that we so often cannot hold what we desire.”  
  
“Wait. What do you mean?”  
  
“I’m very much afraid that you can’t be allowed to keep Ginny.”  
  
The earth dropped out from beneath Draco’s feet. “ _What?”_  
  
“I believe that you heard me quite well, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
_Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock._ How could that damn clock still be marking time, when time itself had frozen?   
  
“You can’t seriously imagine that I’ll give her up,” said Draco.   
  
“I suppose that I ought to explain,” said Dumbledore. “I imagine that the end of the story makes very little sense to you.”  
  
“This isn’t the end of anything.” Draco could hear that his own voice had gone icy and cold and clipped. “Dumbledore, if you seriously think—“  
  
“You really ought to listen to me, Mr. Malfoy. Events will move forward with or without your understanding, of course, but I’d prefer to explain.”   
  
At the tone in his voice, Draco fell silent.   
  
“You see, my plans nearly always succeed,” said Dumbledore. “I suppose that this one didn’t fail; not really. But in a way, it did, and I must admit that I’d never foreseen this sort of failure. My main goal was achieved, and yet the foundation of that goal fell apart utterly. The salient point where you’re concerned, Mr. Malfoy, is how that occurred. I suppose that’s what I’d like you to understand.”

******  
  
Ginny’s eyes snapped open. For a second, she could not think where she was; then she realized that she had fallen asleep on the little cot in the tower room. She put out her hand to feel the coverlets where Draco had been lying next to her. The surface of the sheets was cool and smooth, but she somehow though that he had not been gone very long, either. She rubbed her forehead, staring into the half-darkness.   
  
“I’ve got to go and find him,” she said aloud, before she even had a chance to think out her words.   
  
She slipped out of bed and pushed on the stone door, half-afraid that it wouldn’t open. But it did, and she began to steal quietly down the corridor. _I don’t know why I’m doing this, really,_ she thought. But she did not have to know. Ginny had been born a witch, and then she had been trained in all the magical arts for over five years. She knew an unshakeable intuition when she felt one.

*******  
  
“I’m listening,” said Draco, his mind racing. The little door was the only way out. But it was directly behind Dumbledore.  _I’ve got to play for time. Keep him talking. Distract him. Wait for my chance…_  “What do you mean?”  
  
“It’s actually rather simple. You, Mr. Malfoy, were never meant to become the driving force behind the destruction of the Death Eaters,” said Dumbledore. “Harry Potter ought to have been that. And this is where Ginny Weasley comes in. She was to have provided the power that Harry needed. The difficulty is that she was so regrettably unwilling to allow him to cement the physical bond with her, and it needed to be done at once. You were a necessary substitute. But it cannot be allowed to continue. You see, your commitment to our cause is… suspect, to say the least.”  
  
“I’ll offer you all the commitment you like,” said Draco, calculating whether he could dash past Dumbledore and break down the door.  _No; he’d move too fast, and he’s got his wand. I don’t._ “I’d never betray Ginny, and your side is hers. Look at how much I’ve already given up for her. Think about it, Dumbledore. You’ll never have a more loyal ally to the Order than I will be.”

*****  
  
The corridor was twisting and changing; Ginny was sure of it. She stopped short just before walking into a wall that had popped out of nothingness, closing her eyes, struggling to summon up the image of Draco’s face. Something was very, very wrong. That much, she now knew.   


*****  
“Yes, yes, Mr. Malfoy, but you are illustrating my very point,” said Dumbledore. “You offer yourself for her sake, but I cannot see that your offer is based on anything more than that desire. If anything unfortunate were to happen to Miss Weasley, then your commitment to the right side would, I believe, vanish. For instance, I think that you’d be unwilling to risk even the slightest chance of danger to her, no matter how helpful it would be to us. I cannot imagine your ever being willing to send her into a Death Eater camp as a spy—tut, tut, Mr. Malfoy. Such an excessive display of feeling. I have not yet finished my explanation.”   
  
Draco found himself frozen in midair only inches from Dumbledore’s raised wand. He realized that he must have started lunging across the table.   
  
The older man kept Draco hanging in the air for a moment longer, and then he dropped his wand. “We cannot risk such a thing happening. I must have an ally who can be trusted entirely to put the greater good above personal emotions.”  
  
Draco picked himself back up from the table, breathing hard. “I never would have thought that it was even possible for me to feel a shred of pity for Harry Potter, but I do now. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of how you’re using him, does he?”  
  
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn’t heard a word. “That is the reason why the Binding spell must be cemented between the two of them, you see. No power on earth can tear them apart after that, and Harry will be able to access all of Miss Weasley’s powers.”  
  
“It’s too late. Don’t tell me you don’t know that, you old fraud. I’ve bonded with her; _we’re_ the ones who can’t be torn apart, and fuck-all do you know about what that means to her—she’ll never let Potter lay a finger on her now, ever again—“  
  
“Such language, Mr. Malfoy!” Dumbledore smiled. “But she will. I’ll see to that. And you, I am very much afraid, will need to step aside.”   
  
The older wizard’s wand was raised, but Draco barely saw it. “I will not,” he said. “No magic can stop me. Nothing can keep me from her.”

He met Dumbledore, stare for stare, and saw himself reflected in the other man’s eyes: the pampered, privileged Malfoy heir, the spoiled boy who had always got what he wanted. But he was something more than that now, because he had become the man who had learned to love Ginny more than his own life.

“I won’t give her up,” he said.   
  
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “The truth of that statement is quite clear, Mr. Malfoy.” He nodded his head slightly, as if a confirmation of some long-held opinion had been received.   
  
The door behind Dumbledore trembled and then fell in upon itself. Ginny staggered out and into the room. If she had planned anything during her fumbling run down the corridor, it was to ask what was wrong, because she knew that something had to be. But when she saw Draco’s face across the table, she knew that she did not even need to ask.   
  
Dumbledore gave her a faint smile. “Ah, Miss Weasley. I ought to have suspected that you would come for Mr. Malfoy, even though you should not have been able to leave that room, strictly speaking.”   
  
“What do you mean?” asked Ginny. Keeping her eyes on him, she moved round the table to stand next to Draco.   
  
He gave them a long, dispassionate look. “What power the two of you might create together. Alas, that power could never be completely controlled. So, I’m very much afraid that—“  
  
Draco jerked so violently on Ginny’s arm that she stumbled and almost lost her balance. Then she saw what he had seen, and her momentum took over from his. The door-shaped hole in the wall had remained open. He pulled her around and they both raced past Dumbledore, who simply stood passively and watched them go.   
  
_Why isn’t he trying to stop us?_ wondered Ginny. _Maybe it’ll turn to bricks again as soon as we smash into it. That could be the reason. I don’t care. Nothing can be worse than standing in front of Dumbledore, waiting for him to carry out whatever he’s planned._ _  
_  
They ran together until she felt her heart beating like a crazed drum; Ginny was panting and white-faced but she ran even faster and Draco did too; the figure of Dumbledore retreated and retreated, always further away ( _and why is he just standing there, watching us?_ ) But that didn’t matter, nothing mattered but getting away, and then she realized that she couldn’t see Dumbledore or the tower room anymore, because it had all retreated into mist.   
  
Ginny’s feet caught over something on the ground, and she almost tripped. Draco held out an arm to steady her. He looked down. They were both standing on uneven wet cobblestones. Fresh, cold, clear night air swirled round them. Draco looked around the dark alley, and then up at the elegant two-storied building with the green awning over its front. They were standing directly in front of the little green door on the side.   
  
“We’re back at that club in Knockturn Alley,” she whispered. “But how?”  
  
“I don’t have the slightest idea, but let’s get in there,” he said. “Fast.”  
  
The brass plate on the door shimmered in the light of the streetlamp, and once again she saw the words engraved upon it.  _J'arrive, et je rêve._  
  
_What does that mean, I wonder?_ thought Ginny. _Not that it matters now._  
  
Eagerly, she reached out for the polished brass doorknob.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: And here it is... the LAST chapter! :) /N: Thanks to all readers, kudo-ers, and reviewers! This is the chapter where we finally find out what’s REALLY been going on the entire time.   
  
A crossover character finally appears in this chapter. There’s a reason why he wasn’t listed earlier… it would have given too much away. 😉  
  
Btw, because the original unrevised version of Bound was actually written before HBP, Draco’s sixth year here is AU, and he was never offered the chance to be part of the plan to kill Dumbledore.  
***  
The Last Chapter.  
***  
Mr. Sandman, I’m so alone  
Don’t have nobody to call my own…  
  
Why am I still hearing that song? wondered Ginny.   
  
“What are you waiting for?” Draco asked. “Hurry, hurry.” His voice was very eager. I’m eager as well, she thought. And yet… and yet the sound of music grew louder and louder.   
  
“Can you hear that?” asked Ginny.   
  
“Yes. But what on earth does it matter? Open the door,” he said.   
  
“But…” She hesitated. “That doesn’t make any sense. It’s the same song that was playing in Dumbledore’s office.”   
  
Please turn on your magic beam  
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…  
  
He pressed himself against her from behind, his mouth to her ear. “I don’t know. We can’t worry about it right now. Come on, Ginny!”  
  
What in the world—  
  
She blinked. Something very strange seemed to be happening. Her hand reached for the doorknob, but it never got there. She kept reaching and reaching; the door kept fleeing from her as if down an endless corridor. Her legs were suddenly stilled. She struggled desperately, but she could not move an inch. Draco was still running. But she was moving away from him faster than he could catch up with her.   
  
Draco’s hand slipped out of hers. She tried to run back towards him, but it was impossible. Now his fingers were disappearing into the fog that was beginning to curl through the air.   
  
“Come back!” she screamed, knowing that he could not, just as she could not move a muscle towards him.   
  
“Ginny. Ginny. I will find you,” he said from somewhere beyond the mists. “Remember. Don’t forget… never forget me...”  
  
She was sobbing so loudly that she could barely hear him. His voice came back to her just once more, wafted on the winds.   
  
“… Ginny…”  
  
Knockturn Alley had disappeared. There were no cobblestones under her feet, no starry sky above her head, and no small green door in front of her. She looked to her left and saw a tall, dark figure wrapped in a black cloak. The two of them seemed to float in a void.   
  
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, although she was all too afraid that understanding hovered just outside her consciousness. Dumbledore asked me if I really wanted to know everything. Was this what he meant? Is this the secret that he wouldn’t tell me? “What are you doing here?” she asked. “What’s happened? Where am I? Where’s Draco?”  
  
“Do not ask me what you already know, Ginevra,” he said, still holding her gaze steadily. She could not blink. Things seemed to be sharpening at the edge of her vision then. The layers of mists surrounding them both were like translucent wet gauze. Through them, she dimly saw the shapes of other cots. Very faintly, she heard Luna’s snoring, and a hundred sounds of restless students snuffling and turning in their sleep.   
  
The tall dark man moved so that he stood at the side of her own cot now, wrapped in a long black cloak that moved ceaselessly, though there was no wind. He had dark spiky hair and fathomless eyes filled with stars, and his face was sad, but not as human faces are sad. I’ve seen him before, she realized. I know who he is, the dark man in my room. I learned about him in History of Magic class. And then there are the Seven Endless, those who are before the gods ever were… He is Lord Morpheus. The Sandman. The King of Dreams. He said that he would give me one wish. I said that I didn’t want to wake up, not just yet. And he… he granted my wish. I didn’t know it then, but that’s what he did.   
  
She remembered the words engraved on the brass plaque fixed to the side door of the club where Draco had been staying in Knockturn Alley. J'arrive, et je rêve.   
  
Fleur had come to visit Bill over the Christmas hols the year before, and she and Ginny had hit it off despite the difference in their ages. The older girl had taught her a few words of French, and then a little more when they exchanged owls later on. Ginny knew enough to know what those words meant. And she could not understand why she had not seen their meaning before.   
  
I arrive, and I dream.   
  
And then, in a rush, she knew everything.   
“This is all a dream,” she said, her lips numb.   
  
The Immortal nodded.   
  
Ginny nearly collapsed back onto the floor. She forced herself not to return to her sleeping body. She sat heavily on a cloud of mist, staring blankly into the bank of fog that stretched away from her in every direction. “All a dream,” she repeated dully.   
  
Dream was watching her still, she realized. “Do you still ask me where Draco Malfoy really is?” he asked softly.   
  
“I know where he is,” she said. And she knew that he could not have been anywhere other than where he was. His life had led him back to his father’s side months before, mocking her dream that his choices and his character could have ever set his feet on any other path.   
  
And even though the past week had been only a dream, she felt as thoroughly duped as if she had been deceived in real life—or worse, had deceived herself.   
  
What a fool I was. Wearily, she wondered how she ever could have mistaken her dream-Draco for the real one. She had lent him so many qualities that he didn’t really possess. In her dream, she had given Draco a kindness that he had never shown to anyone so far as she knew, and a softness that could never have been a part of him. He had loved her. His heart had opened to her, and he had betrayed his father for her, loving her.   
  
In the waking world, the real Draco Malfoy had left Hogwarts with his father at the beginning of autumn term, and for the only way of life that he had ever known. And now he was with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters.   
  
“But it all seemed so real!” she muttered aloud.   
  
“The dreams of mortals often do,” said Dream of the Endless.   
  
Ginny sunk her head in her hands. She felt her tears falling through the tips of her fingers.   
  
“Little mortal, little dreamer! You weep for what cannot be changed.” His voice was gentle and merciless. “Still, I envy you, Ginevra.”  
  
“Why?” she choked out. “Would you want to feel this sort of pain?”  
  
“Immortals cannot feel pain,” he said. “We know neither joy nor sorrow, loss nor gain, tears nor laughter. We know desire, and fulfillment. But that is not the same. Yes, I envy you.”   
  
She looked down upon the scene, and she was briefly confused now that she saw it all. She ought to have been in her bedroom at Hogwarts. Instead, she lay on a small, makeshift cot, surrounded by row after row of students. It all seemed to be rushing up at her, closer and closer every moment. Now she could see her sleeping face quite clearly, and the tears glistening on her cheeks. The dark man who was the Lord of Dreams brushed his dead-white hand across her face, almost, but not quite, touching it.   
  
Ginny felt herself fading. The waking world pressed close to her, separated by only the thinnest of veils now.   
  
“Wait, please,” she begged.   
  
“The sands of dreaming have run out,” said Lord Morpheus.   
  
“But I still don’t understand. Why did I have this dream? Why did you send it to me?” She had no idea if he was going to answer her at all, but surprisingly, he did.   
  
“Albus Dumbledore made a bargain with me,” said the Immortal. “One that turned what had been your waking life into a dream.”  
  
Ginny felt a cold chill down her spine. “You mean it really did happen?”   
  
“Perhaps. But now, the past is past,” said the Immortal. “It has become no more than a passing dream.”   
  
“No,” said Ginny, her voice trembling. “I won’t forget this, and I’ll find Draco, and then—“  
  
But he touched her cheek, and at the touch of his immortal hand, her strength and resistance began to fall away.   
  
I will remember! I won’t forget!  
  
“Awake,” he said.   
  
Remember…  
  
Remember, remember…  
  
Ginny’s eyelids fluttered open. She was staring up into the vast ceiling of the Great Hall.   
  
I don’t want to wake up yet, Ginny thought vaguely.  Bits and pieces of the dream were plucking at her mind, too unformed for her to pull them together into any sort of sense. She struggled desperately to do so. A tower room. Dumbledore’s placid face. Now he was speaking in that steady, patient, horrible voice. Holding someone’s hand, running; the mist that curled round them as they tried to reach the green door. But whose hand had it been?   
  
Silvery blond hair, and very pale skin, and eyes the colour of moonlight. Someone with a low, drawling voice and fingers that knew where to touch me, someone who made me feel pleasure like I’ve never felt or even imagined.…   
  
Ginny, I will find you. Remember. Don’t forget.  
  
She gasped and sat bolt upright. I did remember; I did! Now if I can just find Draco, fast--  
  
She began to scramble to her feet, pushing back the rough coverlet, ignoring the sore spots on her back and legs from sleeping on the stone floor, opening her mouth to call out to him.   
  
Then the huge double doors slammed open. Around her, all of the students gasped as one. That means it’s over, thought Ginny, not yet knowing what she meant. One way or another, it’s all over now.   
  
A figure staggered in, clothes torn, face filthy with dirt. The room retreated around him like waves washing back from the shore. He stood in the very center of the circle. “He’s dead,” he said in a rasp of a voice. “I’ve killed him. It’s finished.”   
  
The room erupted in screams and cheers. They all surged forward, grabbing Harry, pummeling him, shaking him back and forth between dozens of bodies like a piece of flotsam.   
  
Ginny was the only one who did not move. She stood still as a stone, and it all came back to her. Harry had gone out to face Voldemort, and he had refused to let anyone come with him. They had all known that there was nothing any of them could do. In the morning, it would all come to an end, one way or another. She had woken moments before his final victory. Woken from a fading dream…  
  
Several people had thrown Harry up onto their shoulders now, and they were all advancing on Ginny. Harry looked down at her from his position above.  
  
“We’ve won, Ginny,” he said in the same hoarse voice. He reached his hand down for her, and suddenly everyone was lifting her up to him.   
  
She sat next to him like a queen stiffly enthroned beside her king. Remember! Remember! screamed a tiny voice in her head. But it was very small, and it faded away very quickly. When Harry turned to kiss her, it disappeared altogether.   
  
“And thank all the gods, we’re got rid of the damn Slytherins,” said Ron from below.   
  
As if her gaze was drawn by a magnet, Ginny looked at the chair at the center of the old Slytherin table. It was – had been-- Draco Malfoy’s chair. But he was long gone, of course. He had left school with his father many months before. She remembered that now.   
  
In the days that followed, Harry stuck to Ginny’s side like a limpet. True, she could not help noticing that he never actually had much of anything to say to her. He saved his conversations for Ron and Hermione. But he held her hand constantly, and placed her at his left side for photographs, and called her his girlfriend in Daily Prophet interviews, and kissed her several times a day. Ginny’s entire face always felt numb whenever Harry’s lips approached hers.   
I should respond, she always thought despairingly. Harry’s truly good, and he deserves more than I can give him. Because I can’t give him what he wants. Oh, I wish he’d understand that!   
But Harry didn’t understand.   
  
He didn’t seem to be very happy with the limited intimacy of a kiss, and he tried to persuade her to allow him to do much more. The only times when Ginny showed signs of life were when Harry made these attempts. About a week after the end of the war, he tried to slip one hand down her blouse and the other up under her skirt. She pushed him away long before the two could meet in the middle. His attempts stopped for a little while, but she was perfectly aware that the respite was only temporary. Again, she wished that she could offer Harry the responses he wanted from her, but she knew that she could not.   
  
Ginny began staying in bed for a long time in the mornings. She often missed her first classes, but she knew that the teachers were allowing her a great deal of leeway, so it didn’t much matter. Each night, she took a potion that was known for shifting dreams forward, towards the very end of the sleep cycle. Each morning, she could feel herself slipping out of dream before she woke up fully. She would try desperately to hold onto the shreds of her dream, but it never worked. Then she would stare up at the underside of the carved wooden ceiling of her canopy bed for a long time.   
  
A month or so after the Yule holidays, Draco Malfoy came back to Hogwarts. His mother brought him to school in a Muggle car, although nobody was quite sure how she had managed to do it. He was greeted with immediate hostility from every single student, and he ignored it all. He walked solitary through the corridors and sat silently at meals like a pale, tall spectre at the feast of victory, and everyone left him alone. Ginny couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. He seemed to be avoiding her, so there weren’t many opportunities to do it, but she took full advantage of every one. Finally, Draco looked back at her while they were walking in a corridor one day, and she was afraid of the burning intensity in his eyes. She looked down quickly and hurried past him. She almost thought she felt his hand brushing the sleeve of her robes, but that had to be wrong, of course.   
  
One weekend in February, Harry took Ginny to an elegant room at the Belle Fleurs hotel located in the tonier end of Hogsmeade. He gave her roses and champagne, and she stared into the crackling flames in the fireplace. It took her some time to realize that he was talking to her.   
  
“Ginny, I don’t want you to think that I don’t respect you.”  
  
“Mm-hm,” she said.   
  
“I understand that you don’t want it to happen now. I don’t expect it just because we’re in a hotel room. You do understand that, do you?”  
  
“Mm,” she said.   
  
“Ginny? Are you listening?”  
  
“Mm-hm.” The dancing flames were far more interesting than anything Harry was saying.  
  
“I can wait until after we’re married.”  
  
That did get her attention. She shoved back the little table, still holding her glass of champagne in one hand. “You haven’t asked me,” she said.   
  
“I just thought… well, you’ll say yes, right?” He looked at her with bright green eyes. His hair was tousled in the way that she had once loved. He seemed very sure of himself, she thought objectively. She got up.   
  
“Ginny? What are you doing?” He put a hand on her arm. She wondered what would happen if she swiftly turned and gave him a good hard shove away from her. He’d been a Quidditch Seeker, and his reflexes were very fast. On the other hand, she’d have the element of surprise. There was the danger that he’d fall into the fireplace, though, and she felt guilty enough about Harry as it was.   
His hand began moving up her arm towards her bare neck.   
“This isn’t going to work, Harry,” she said. “You need to stop.”   
  
He spoke as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Sorry. I know this is so sudden. But Ginny, if you just listen to me, you’ll understand—“  
  
There seemed to be no other way to get him to shut up than to dash her nearly full glass of champagne in his face. So she did it. Harry looked at her despondently as she walked towards the door, and she regretted her action even as she knew that she wouldn’t have taken it back.   
“I never meant to hurt you, Ginny,” he said in a low voice.   
“I know, Harry,” she replied, and she left him.   
  
Ginny’s mother wrote a letter. It wasn’t a Howler, but the words on the page thrummed with the same sort of urgency. It began by mentioning the importance of her bond with Harry in no uncertain terms, and it closed with strong hints about how lovely she would look all in white with orange blossoms in her hair in the June wedding. Ginny read it thoroughly and then tore it up. She used an Incendio charm to set the scraps afire.   
  
Ginny’s dreams turned tantalizing. She would wake in the hour just before dawn, almost-memories racing through her mind. They faded as soon as she tried to put words to them. But one day in March, she grimly grasped the image of a silvery-haired boy with brilliant grey eyes, and she burned it into her memory so clearly that she did remember it after she woke.   
  
Remember, Ginny. Don’t forget me.  
  
Yes. He had definitely said that.  
  
She tried to find chances to talk to Draco Malfoy. When that project proved to be impossible, she turned to stalking him. She waited outside classrooms, in corridors, in nooks of the Great Hall after meals, at the painting that formed the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Sometimes, he would disappear just when she was sure she was about to catch him. She began to get frequent notes from Dumbledore, passed to her by first-years. He called her into his office and talked about trivial things. Ginny didn’t understand why she was there, but she had to clench her fists beneath the edge of the table every time, and her fingernails cut half-moons into her skin.   
  
She ate lunch with Hermione during a Hogsmeade weekend, having carefully planned it so that the two of them would be alone. “Hermione, do you know about the thing Muggles call déjà vu?” she asked once they were sitting at a secluded table in a corner.  
  
“Of course,” said Hermione, biting into a sandwich. “It means ‘already seen.’ It’s the phenomenon of believing an event or experience currently experienced has already occurred in the past. There’s a strong feeling of familiarity, of reliving, and—“  
  
“That’s just what’s been happening to me!” broke in Ginny. “Hermione, half the things that are happening now seem like they’ve happened before, or almost happened before. It’s like walking in a dream. Or maybe not exactly that—oh, I don’t know—“ Ginny realized that Hermione was staring at her, and she blushed.   
  
“Maybe you should see a Muggle neurologist,” said Hermione. “You might have some tests done.“  
  
“Maybe,” mumbled Ginny, returning to her sandwich.   
  
“The temporal lobe is often involved,” went on Hermione. “Especially the area associated with dreaming. Have you tried a Dreamless potion, Ginny?”  
  
“I don’t want one.”  
  
“I’m worried that you’re not getting enough sleep,” said Hermione, in her bossiest tones. “I know a wonderful potion. Luna said that she tried it last week, and she hasn’t had a single dream since.“  
  
“I said I don’t want one!” Too late, Ginny realized that her voice had been much too loud. People were turning to stare. She focused fiercely on her carbonated pumpkin juice, watching the bubbles pop and fizz.   
  
At the very start of April, Ginny was walking on the path that led from the lake. She moved very slowly. There was nowhere in particular to go. Eostre hols would start the next day, and she would spend most of them working for Fred and George in the shop. She had decided to simply give up on the bizarre project of attempting to corner Draco Malfoy for a private chat. What was she going to say if she did manage to finally catch him? That she thought he was haunting her dreams, and she wanted a bloody explanation? No. There was no point to it and never had been.  
  
She paused when she reached the clock tower at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. It marked the end of the winding path. “But this can’t be the end,” she said aloud, not knowing what she meant. “It’s just that I don’t know what the end ought to be.”  
  
She heard a faint rustling in the weeds growing at the foot of the tower, and she looked up to see Draco Malfoy coming towards her. Before she could take a single step, the door at the base of the tower opened, and a hand reached out to grab her arm and pull her in.   
  
The door slammed. She turned rapidly, angry words bubbling up to her lips. Dumbledore’s tired, old face looked down at her.   
  
“Ah, Miss Weasley. I can see that you have a great deal to say. I believe it would be best if you spoke your mind in a more secluded location.”  
  
Ginny stomped up the stone stairs after him. She glared round the small, twelve-sided room, furnished to look exactly like his larger office in the castle. Oh, I’ll speak my mind, all right!   
  
“Why did you pull me away from Malfoy? He wanted to talk to me; didn’t you see that… sir?” She added the last word, remembering that he was the headmaster, after all. He certainly had the power to arbitrarily lower her grades if she annoyed him enough. True, she didn’t care now, but there might be a time when she would.   
  
“I saw it indeed,” said Dumbledore. He did not say anything more.   
  
Ginny stared out of the small, high window cut into the stone wall. Draco was circling the tower now, clearly looking for a door. “I thought that he’s been avoiding me,” she said. “But that’s not it at all. He’s trying to find me, too. Isn’t he? And it’s been going on for months. I’m right, aren’t I?”  
  
“Yes, Miss Weasley, you are.”  
  
“You’ve been keeping us apart.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But why?”  
  
Dumbledore moved next to her and stared out the window as well. Ginny was struck by just how old he looked, and how weak. “For very foolish reasons, I think,” he said.   
  
“I don’t understand,” said Ginny.   
  
“Let us simply say that I attempted what no mortal man should try, and I struck a bargain with one who levied a very great price. It seemed worth paying, at that time.”  
  
She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t have the faintest idea. It didn’t make any sense at all.   
  
But she kept looking at the older man’s tired face, and she knew.   
  
“I shall be required to live with the knowledge of my failure,” said Dumbledore. “But I will not do so for any great length of time.”  
  
Ginny swallowed. Her voice came out as a whisper. “You… you’re going to die.”  
  
“My dear Miss Weasley, we are all bound to that doom,” said Dumbledore. “But knowing the day of our death is a dubious gift given to few. It has passed to me, and all through my own fault. Don’t cry, child.” He reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek, and she could not help flinching at the coldness of his hands.   
  
He moved to a small door behind him and held it open. “Go,” he said, and she went.   
  
Draco was gone by the time she came out, of course.   
  
***  
  
Mr Sandman, bring me a dream…   
  
George stuck his head in the door to the storeroom. “Gin, are you done with the Exploding Eostre Chicks yet?”  
  
“Yes,” said Ginny.   
  
“Then start on the Dreamless Potions, would you? I’m going out.”  
  
“Mm-hm.”   
  
Make him the sweetest that I’ve ever seen…  
  
Ginny opened a cardboard box of slender dark bottles and began to count them. Maybe I should’ve taken Hermione up on her suggestion, she thought. She still couldn’t sleep through the night, and her dreams were still haunted by both words and images, a deep low voice speaking to her intensely, remember me, Ginny, don’t forget--  
  
Although there really wasn’t anything to forget, because there was nothing to remember.   
  
She picked up one of the bottles. The black, oily liquid repelled her, but she kept tipping it back and forth to the rhythm of the Muggle radio.   
  
Give him two lips, of roses and clover  
And tell me that my lonely nights are over…  
  
The door flew open with such force that it rebounded against the opposite wall. Ginny sprang up.   
  
“I’m doing it, George! You don’t have to—“  
  
The words died on her lips. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, breathing very hard. He fixed her with a glare.   
  
“You,” he said.   
  
“Yes, it’s me,” said Ginny, with much more bravado then she felt. “Nice to know that you can recognize a Weasley when you see one. But I’m busy just now, so if you don’t mind getting out of here—“  
  
“No. I’m not about to get out, not when I’ve finally found you.” He pulled the door shut behind him without looking back and began advancing on her.   
  
She clutched at the edge of a filing cabinet. “Leave me alone, Malfoy!”  
  
“I won’t. I can’t. And you know why.”  
  
“I don’t know anything.” Would anyone hear her if she screamed? She wondered. Fred and George were both gone now, and nobody else was in the building yet. But she didn’t want to scream.  
  
“Oh, yes, you do. You’ve got to. A street in Knockturn Alley. Billowing clouds of fog. You reached for the green door, and then you disappeared; I chased you, I ran as hard as I could, but I couldn’t catch you.“  
  
“I…I…”   
  
He crossed the room in a few strides. “J'arrive, et je rêve,” he said intensely. “You know what I’m talking about!”  
  
She didn’t. She did. She could not stop looking up into his blazing silver eyes.   
  
“What did I say then, Weasley—no, Ginny! Tell me what I said!” He grasped her shoulders. “Tell me!”  
  
Finally, she spoke the words that had haunted her own dreams. “’Ginny, I will find you. Remember. Don’t forget me,’” she whispered.   
  
His arms went round her with a force that knocked the breath from her body. “I knew it. I knew. I thought I was going mad, but I wasn’t. You remember it as well.”  
  
She nodded, her head against his chest.   
  
Then they broke apart. Ginny put a hand to her head. The room was whirling round and round, dizzyingly unreal. No; that wasn’t true. It was if she had been trapped in a long, dreary dream, and the morning had finally come. Draco reached out for her again, but she avoided his hands.   
  
“This is absolutely mad,” she said.   
  
“Very probably. Do you care?”  
  
Ginny did not, but she felt as if she ought to make some sort of token protest. “Malfoy, you’re one of my family’s greatest enemies—well, you’ve taken the top spot now that Voldemort’s gone—and Harry’s always hated you, and you’re a spoiled selfish snarky brat, and I can’t believe that I just allowed you to touch me.“  
  
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Does this mean I’m not invited to Eostre dinner at the Weasley shack?”  
  
His arms were still stretched out towards her. Wordlessly, she stepped back into their circle.   
  
“It means I’m inviting you…. Draco.”  
  
She had never called him by his first name before; she had scarcely ever exchanged five words with him before, but now, nothing had ever felt so natural.   
  
“We’re bound together, aren’t we?” she asked.   
  
“Yes, Ginny. We are.” Draco tipped his head down, and a shaft of morning sunlight turned his hair to brilliant silvery fire. She watched him do it, knowing what would happen next, feeling no urge to stop him. He pulled her close and kissed her, slowly and fiercely, sweetly and thoroughly, and in that moment, she knew there was nothing more that needed saying. The old-fashioned music drifted over and around them as if weaving a spell that would bind them together forever. And she knew that they had both awakened from nightmare, and the ties that bound them would never break again.   
  
So please turn on your magic beam  
Mr Sandman, bring us, please, please, please  
Mr Sandman, bring us a dream  
  
~the end!~  
  
NOTES… Yes, that’s Dream of the Endless from the original Neil Gaiman series. 

And I just saw the EPIX Star Wars Trailer!!! (April 11, 2019, in case you're reading this later on. I screamed for about 5 minutes straight and scared the cat. :) If you're reading this after it dropped and you haven't seen this yet, DO EET. I'll start posting my new Reylo fic soon. It's an in-universe AU that starts from one premise: what if Darth Maul didn't kill Qui-Gon in that plasma reactor in Theed? A lot changes. Anakin never falls to the dark side or becomes Darth Vader, and Palpatine kills himself because he's knows he has lost... or so it seems. Anakin becomes president of the United Federation of Systems, Ben Solo is a lieutenant in the Peace Force, and he just happens to end up in Jakku, where Rey is performing in a cantina... I PREDICTED Ep IX in this fic!! Um... that's what I think, anyway. We will see. ;) I'll start posting *Prophecy * in a couple of weeks.


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